


Workin' on it

by tobinlaughing



Category: Captain America, Darcy Lewis - Fandom, Iron Man - Fandom, Marvel Cinematic Universe, Thor - Fandom
Genre: "and the waltz goes on" by sir anthony hopkins, Awesome Darcy Lewis, Awkward Date, BAMF Darcy, BAMF Darcy Lewis, Cuddling, Darcy Lewis-centric, F/M, Fyeah Darcy Lewis, Making Out, Multi, Oral Sex, Post-Captain America: The Winter Soldier, Pre-Avengers: Age of Ultron (Movie), Protective Steve Rogers, Romantic Resolution, SHIELD Agent Darcy Lewis, Sex, ShieldShock - Freeform, Sleeping Together, Steve Rogers Feels, Tony throws weird parties, asspull science, at last, awkward steeb, captain america is not good at talking to girls, darcy becomes a shield agent, darcy likes big parties, does science work like that?, fancy dresses big party, hon hon hon ze makeouts avec capitaine america, jetsetting spies, k i s s i n g, slow burn?, stop blowing holes in my tower, the avengers are not allowed inside the UN, the search for barnes, thor and jane are horndogs, you and i remember Budapest very differently
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-14
Updated: 2018-04-12
Packaged: 2019-03-31 10:30:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 13
Words: 38,133
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13973163
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tobinlaughing/pseuds/tobinlaughing
Summary: Darcy's promotion to Official Lab Queen (c) comes with a couple requirements. She's gotta put in some work.Steve is not good at talking to girls.





	1. Chapter 1

There is no reason for her to be in the same freaking room as Captain Freaking America, ever, at all, ever, so of course that’s where she ends up.

She blames….Darcy’s not sure who to blame. Clint and Natasha are high on the list, because apparently neither of them can see a non-romantically-attached individual and avoid the temptation to play matchmaker. Jane and Thor are also on the list, for similar reasons, although Darcy knows both Jane and Thor hold the Captain in highest esteem. Bruce might have made the arrangements, for the simple fact that Hulk has never not considered the Captain on his side and both of them trust Steve Rogers implicitly, and thus trust him to run Darcy’s personal safety training. 

Tony might have just swiped random directions on a StarkPad and done the sorting in his normal chaotic manner, neither knowing nor caring how the class rosters would fall out. 

And so, Darcy’s in a training room (padded walls, boxing ring, climbing ropes, free weights, no mirrors) with Captain Freaking America, five other Clearance-Level-One SHIELD employees, and all of her deep-dark-heady-crush fantasies about the Stars and Stripes, decked out in SHIELD-issue workout gear and waiting to learn how she’s going to embarrass herself today.

“Just basic circuits today, everyone,” Cap announces, striding into the room like _Adonis in sweatpants_ , clapping his hands and rubbing them together. “I need to see where everyone’s starting out in terms of both strength and endurance, so I’m gonna pair you off and we’ll run circuit stations. We’ll do at least one day a week of circuit training, and if you’re training on your own in your off-hours I want you to repeat the circuits I give you in class. You’re getting these for a reason, just like all your other training exercises, so practice, practice, practice.”

He points and counts down the short line -- _one-one-two-two-three-three_ \-- and Darcy ends up paired with another dark-haired woman who’s about five years younger and five light-years ahead of her on the fitness bell curve. 

“Anna Buckley,” the younger woman holds out a hand to shake, “from Intel Support. I don’t think I saw you at intake orientation, did I?”

Darcy tries to give a firm shake in return. “No, I’m not a new recruit. Uh, Darcy Lewis. I work up in the Labs.” Reflexively she jerks her chin upwards: the research laboratories at Stark take up the top four levels of the Tower, with the reasoning that such positioning will keep any large explosions from collapsing the rest of the building, or from impacting the Tower’s neighbors too severely. 

Buckley gives Darcy a once-over. “You a research assistant or something? No offense, and I know SHIELD recruits ridiculously photogenic people, but you seem a bit young to be Doctor Darcy.”

“Yeah, no, I get it. I’m Dr Foster’s assistant, soon to be...uh, Chief Laboratory Operations Officer for the SHIELD-Stark Joint Research and Development Division.” The hesitation is almost involuntary: while she’s scratched and fought to prove herself amongst the bevy of lab assistants that rotate through the Tower, and knows she deserves the position and promotion, Darcy still can’t quite believe it’s real. 

Buckley whistles. “Nice. Yeah, a bump in Clearance like that, far as I’ve heard, usually results in at least self-defense classes with one of the Avengers. I was kinda hoping for Falcon’s class, but…”

“I’ll let Sam know he’s got a fan in mine,” a smooth interjection, delivered in such a sonorous tone, can only come from Captain Freaking America hisownself, and Darcy is pathetically grateful to not be the one in the spotlight at this very moment. 

“Sir. Captain, sir. Sorry, sir. No offense meant,” Buckley snaps to attention with a razor-edged salute, and Darcy can see the military training ingrained in every line. Buckley might be her partner, but Darcy has the sinking feeling only one of them is going to actually help the other along in this scenario. 

“At ease, sailor. No offense taken. And no need for formality. I’m not your CO, I’m your teacher. So you’re my Pair Three, meaning you’re Buckley,” he points with the clipboard Darcy didn’t see him carrying before, “and you, of course, are Lewis.”

“Um, hi.” Darcy manages a wave with her elbow still tucked in by her hip--almost the polar opposite of Buckley’s smart salute in every way. Also cringe-inducing in it’s patheticness.

“congratulations on your promotion, Lewis,” he replies, and there's barely anything to the statement because he's delivered it as deadpan as is possible for any sentiment containing the word “congratulations”. Darcy almost whispers her thanks, feeling a little like a punctured balloon. 

“You two are starting on the treadmills. I want fifteen minutes of running or jogging, or a mile, whichever comes last. Try not to walk or step off on the rails. Got it?”

Buckley nods crisply with a “yes, sir”, almost in spite of herself, and Darcy echoes it weakly. She is, as she's explained to Jane many times, built for comfort, not speed, and running is a distant, hated memory from high school PE.

Darcy’s mile takes her 17 minutes and 43 seconds. Buckley is gracious enough to remain on her treadmill for the duration, logging a mile-point-six as Darcy’s odometer ticks from .999 to 1.000 miles. Darcy sucks air in through a mouth and throat that feel swollen and on fire, while Buckley is barely winded. 

The pair are a little more equally matched at the free weights station: Darcy has been hauling road cases and stacks of equipment up and down stairs for Jane around the world, so her starting squat and deadlifts are at least within shouting distance of Buckley’s. Her bicep curls are ok, her bench press needs work, and she can barely hold a bent-arm hang, but at least she's not the only one who can't do a full pull-up. Although he doesn't seem to be paying a lot of attention, Cap at least nods some small measure of approval when he sees Darcy doing full sit-ups rather than crunches. (He'd refused to make eye contact when she'd staggered away from the treadmill. The disappointment was thick enough around him to scoop like ice cream.)

Each circuit takes fifteen minutes (except their first cardio circuit, natch) and Cap has six circuits set up for them. By the time he blows his honest-to-God coach’s whistle--three short blasts to end the day--Darcy feels like a hot wet rag. She hates almost everyone. Any positive feelings she might have had for Captain America, of a romantic or similar bent, have evaporated. Buckley’s only barely still on her good side, and that’s only because the younger woman is always ready to give Darcy a hand up when she’d rather just lay on the mats and melt. 

Each trainee is handed a yellow piece of paper with Cap’s evaluation on it: a standardized form from an organization that loves its standardized forms. Darcy isn’t surprised to see that none of the areas on her form are marked “meets or exceeds expectations”. The bottom of each section is also full of Cap’s cramped, slanting handwriting: apparently the Captain was paying closer attention than she thought, and has a ton of suggestions for how she can improve herself for next time. Which is the day after tomorrow. 

She grabs a sandwich from the concierge station in the lobby and practically inhales it on the elevator ride up to the Labs, not caring at all that several high-ranking SHIELD operatives enter and exit as she’s trying to catch every last scrap of turkey and cheese. The locker-room showers had been stall-less (yet another reminder of the hell that was high school phys ed) and she was pretty sure almost every incoming female-identifying agent SHIELD had recruited in the last year had seen more than enough to render moot any further discomfort she’d feel in anyone’s presence ever. And then, two-thirds of the way up the Tower, the doors open to reveal Captain _Fucking_ America and the Falcon, waiting for an elevator up like a pair of misplaced home-gym models.

“Uhm,” is all Darcy can manage before they crowd in, and how do two men take up so much space in a luxury elevator? Darcy attempts to squeeze herself further into the corner, hearing her sandwich wrapper crinkle in the outer pocket of her lab coat.

“Hey, congrats on the promotion, Lewis!” Sam Wilson has never not been friendly to her, and Darcy’s never been more grateful for another person’s natural charisma. “When do the new duties take over?”

“Ha, you said ‘duty’, “ Darcy replies almost automatically, then claps a hand over her mouth as Cap turns away slightly. Sam, however, laughs loudly.   
“Today, actually,” she amends quickly, hoping to sweep everything about this interaction under the rug. “I, uh, my job doesn’t really change a whole lot, except that I’m now coordinating Dr Banner’s lab assistants and Tony’s, if he ever needs any. Jane and Erik are still my responsibilities, and if Dr Cho is ever going to take Tony’s bait and join us, her lab ops and assistants and all of that will also go through me.”

“Sounds like a lot to take on. Do you get an assistant, too?”

“No, not yet. It’s really just taking all the things I do for Jane and Erik and multiplying them by two and a half. I’m sure I’ll get to delegate a few things, but the rest isn’t anything I can’t handle.”

This is not just false bravado. Darcy is well-aware of how much care and feeding geniuses take, and she’s been caring for and feeding Jane and Erik for more than five years now, rolling with all the craziness and supporting all the discoveries, innovations, and other aberrations that pop up in the normal course of research for astrophysicists. Daily operations in her section of the Labs are well-oiled systems and she can, at the push of a button, coordinate support, housing, info-dumps and research sharing between the dozen biggest labs in the world. Darcy’s more than confident in her ability to run the Labs for Stark and SHIELD, and she knows she deserves this promotion...and the pay raise that goes with it.

“You just keep Stark and Banner away from any more killer robots, ok?” Sam bumps her shoulder gently, and she smiles at him.

“Yeah, I’d like to not have to save the _whole world_ at once again, thanks,” Cap puts in, and his tone is...not jolly, like Sam’s was, but a lot more resentful. He’s still not looking straight at her, and Darcy narrows her eyes at his back. 

“Do my best,” she bites out, finally, just as the elevator car slows and the doors slide open. Sam winks as they exit. Cap doesn’t even turn his head, just bobs his chin in a bare nod as they stride off down the corridor. 

Sam cranes his neck to look over his shoulder as the elevator doors close with a ‘ding’, then backhands Steve across the chest. “Were you _trying_ to be an asshole right then, or is that your normal reaction to pretty women? Cuz if it is, then Natasha’s ongoing failure to get you laid makes a hell of a lot more sense.”

“What? I wasn’t...what?” Steve spreads his hands in confusion. “I wasn’t an asshole, was I?”

“You were,” Sam confirms. “And isn’t she one of your trainees? How’s she supposed to feel when her instructor won’t look at her in the elevator? That’s not 'providing a culture of support', Steve. Girl’s probably shaking in her shoes, thinkin’ Captain America doesn’t like her.”

“Darcy Lewis has faced down far bigger threats than Captain America in an elevator, and she’s _tazed_ most of them,” Steve growls, straightening his shirt front with an attitude of offense normally reserved for unexpectedly wet cats. “And her ‘culture of support’ is provided in large part by the Norse god of Thunder, his genius girlfriend, and the goddamn Hulk, so I’m not gonna assume my opinion matters much to her outside of training.”

Sam gives him the side-eye for most of the remaining trip down the hall, then stops him before they reach the conference room. “So that’s how it is, huh.”

“That’s how what is?”

“You’ve got a crush on little Miss Lewis there, and big strong Captain America doesn’t know how he’s gonna handle his feelings. Am I right? Whoo. Ha! Who knew that superhero training needed a section on inter-office relationships?” Sam pushed into the conference room ahead of Steve, calling out a greeting to Pepper Potts and Maria Hill as Steve stood like a boulder outside. 

\---

When Darcy isn’t looking, Jane takes her beer and swaps it for a tall glass of water.

“Jane!” Darcy protests, reaching for her other glass.

“Not til you’ve drunk that,” Jane nods at the water. “If you really need to do as much catch-up training as you say you do, you’ll be experiencing muscle fatigue, pain, and soreness from now until….like, next year. Water is going to help with those symptoms. Beer won’t.”

“It’s cider, anyways,” Darcy mutters, but downs the water all the same, secretly pleased. Jane giving health tips means that Jane’s actually listened to and absorbed some of Darcy’s care-and-feeding rants over the last five years. Proper hydration might be the only thing she’s held on to, but it’s something, at least: a step in the right direction, away from pre-New Mexico Jane, who thought gummi worms were a food group and who only drank liquids containing caffeine.

Bruce Banner is frowning at Darcy’s yellow evaluation form, his tea steaming in the tabletop in front of him. “Cap’s kind of a taskmaster, isn't he? This is a lot of stuff to get done before Wednesday. Should you be in bed or something?”

“ ‘Taskmaster' isn't the word I'd use,” Darcy grumbled. Jane passed her cider back with a sympathetic look. 

“I've got a workout schedule and a training partner, so I'm just gonna show up and put the work in,” Darcy says, after a long pull on her drink. “It's six weeks of this, and then if I pass I can sign up for Nat’s specialized training. I just have to make six weeks. But first!” Darcy stands from the couch with a groan, her legs protesting the change in position. “First I have to un-hydrate. Lady doctor, gentleman doctor, please keep my seat for me.” Darcy bows as much as her protesting backside will allow, and makes her way to the half-bath off the common room kitchen. 

Cap and Sam are at the kitchen table with Jane and Bruce when she gets back. Captain _Fucking_ America is, in fact sitting in her seat, with her half-finished cider in front of him.

The three men--unconsciously trained by Cap himself in the maneuver--all rise when she approaches the table. A little cider, a lot of physical exertion, and the mental energy drain it had taken to get her new status as Labs COO completed--all of these combine to take away the last fuck Darcy has to give, and so she walks all the way around the kitchen table to take her seat back, smiling sweetly.

Cap pushes the chair in as she sits down. 

Everyone has a seat and a drink in short order and Bruce waves the yellow form at Cap. “Steve, your trainees are regular humans, you know. This is a lot to expect from a person's first two days of training.”

Captain America, for the first time, looks directly at Darcy, with a sheepish little grin. “Of course I'm not looking for overnight success,” he says. “We've got six weeks. The suggestions I make are meant to be taken over those six weeks.”

“A twelve-minute mile, though?” Jane asks.

“Hey, thank me for that one,” Sam interjects. “Super serum over here had to be bargained down from a _seven-minute mile._ I told him, nobody's expecting Usain Bolt to up and join SHIELD. I did an eight minute mile _maybe_ once, in basic. This fool does twelve of ‘em to warm up in the morning, then really kicks it in for sprints.”

“Wait, are you assuming I can't do it?” Darcy asks Jane, leaning in to speak across Bruce. “It's my first day, Jane. Gimme a chance, and maybe benefit of a doubt here, ok?”

“I never said you can't, Darce. I just know I couldn't, even if I stick to Steve’s schedule here.”

“You held a freaking infinity stone in your blood stream, Janey. Pretty sure a couple weeks of training and your could run Captain America’s Fitness Challenge too.”

“Yeah, but here's the thing: I don't have to.” Jane leans back in her chair, a smug smile on her face. “Score one for grandfathering-in my security clearance and skipping gym class.”

“Well, I'm going to. Can't be any harder than finishing my bachelor's while we were in Trømso. See if I don't.” Darcy glares at Jane, then Bruce. Sam laughs again and toasts her with his beer, and even Cap gives her an approving nod.

“I know you can do it,” he says, and Darcy takes a second to believe that he's speaking directly to her. “Wouldn't have you in my class otherwise.”

“Um. Thank you. I...I appreciate that.” Awkward silence falls around the table for a moment. 

“The full _Indiana Jones_ collection is on Netflix,” Sam says, breaking the silence. “And guess who hasn't seen _Temple of Doom_ yet?” 

“Ugh, I don't blame you,” Darcy makes a face. “ _Temple of Doom_ is almost terrible. See _Crystal Skull_ before _Temple of Doom_.”

“Young lady, you need to leave,” Bruce says with mock sternness. “That fourth movie is a travesty and a sham, whereas _Temple of Doom_ is a classic piece of serial storytelling. A masterwork of special effects.”

“Nah, I gotta side with Darcy on this one,” Jane swigs the last of her cider. “ _Temple of Doom_ would be great if that damn singer wasn't shrieking her head off every time something happens.”

“Hulk likes screaming lady,” Bruce growls. Sam and Cap shove their chairs back, hands outstretched towards Jane and Darcy in alarm. Darcy and Jane, however, snort and giggle respectively, and after a second, Bruce grins. 

“Sorry, fellas, sorry. It's just a joke. I pull it in the Lab all the time…”

“Yeah, and it's obvious Hulk is a die-hard Marian Ravenwood stan,” Jane adds, and the three of them giggle. Cap and the Falcon relax fractionally.

“Well, we can either, A) solve the problem and resolve the issue with a back-to-back viewing of Indiana Jones and the _Temple of Doom_ and _Indiana Jones and the Kingdom of the Crystal Skull_ , or B) we can sidestep the issue entirely by watching one or both _Mummy_ movies instead.” Darcy downs the last of her cider and stands. Part of her wants to giggle when Cap, Sam, and Bruce all stand reflexively as well.

Sam cocks his head to one side. “Wait, I thought there were four _Mummy_ movies? The Brendan Frasier ones?”

“There are only two that count,” Darcy says primly, and Jane rolls her eyes.

 

\---  
The next morning _sucks._

It takes Darcy a full five minutes to work her aching legs and arms out from under the covers--the sweet, warm, heavy covers on her soft, cozy bed--when her alarm goes off at 5:30. The muscles of her legs and her whole back feel like someone has wrapped every muscle strand in sandpaper, and there are weird twinges in her armpits, of all things, when she struggles into another set of SHIELD-issue training gear. At least her boobs don’t feel like someone’s been using them as punching bags: of course it would take bleeding-edge technology developed by a worldwide intelligence organization to finally develop a sports bra that works for girls of her size. She downs another tall glass of water, along with a couple ibuprofen, and a banana, before making her way down from the Tower’s living-quarters floors (ten stories below the Labs) to the training center.

Buckley’s there already, as Darcy suspected she would be. She’s running on the treadmill at a speed Darcy would consider sprinting, but doesn’t seem to have done more than broken a sweat by the time Darcy stumbles over. Darcy mounts the treadmill and gets in five minutes at a shambling semi-jog before Buckley reaches over and taps the “pause” on Darcy’s treadmill console. 

“You’ll feel better if you warm up with something else before you run,” Buckley suggests, and the pair of them head over to the free weights to lift and stretch. Starting out with something she’s better at--squats, for sure, but also deadlifts and curls--helps not only loosen Darcy’s sore muscles, but gives her a slightly less bitter outlook on the whole idea of physical fitness.

Buckley has to drop out at seven in order to be ready for work. The Labs won’t open til 10, which means Darcy has a good hour, at least, to shamble her way through a treadmill workout before she has to head back upstairs and shower and change. 

Headphones aren’t allowed in class, but there’s no one else in the training center this morning, so Darcy jams her old, beat-up headphones on over her frizzy hair and calls up the thumpiest EDM and house she can find: stuff she hasn’t listened to for years, but that will keep her mind off running--or so she hopes.

Steve pauses in the doorway to the training room, equal parts impressed and surprised to see Darcy Lewis chugging away at the treadmill. 

He’s really tempted to go over and….what? Interrupt her? She’s got a look of determined concentration on her face and his enhanced hearing can pick out the heavy bass of whatever music is getting her through her workout. She’d probably deck him for breaking her concentration, and he’d deserve it. Still, he can’t help but feel just a little flutter of pride--one that he quickly squashes down. He’s got no right to take pride in her accomplishments; they’re for her, not him, and unless and until he’s not her instructor any more, there’s no way it would be remotely appropriate for him to approach her about anything outside of class.

He doesn’t realize he’s made a deal with himself until much later, when he catches sight of Darcy heading to the elevators and up to the Labs, and mutters “six weeks” under his breath.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The universe holds an unlimited supply of uncomfortable situations.   
> Sam Wilson is a really nice guy.   
> Jane does not see problems, only challenges.

Darcy shows up. Darcy puts in the work.

The integration of SHIELD’s lab with Stark Labs goes….okay. Not necessarily smoothly, because there are data-mining protocols that both sides need to be talked out of, and the distinction between the Samples Fridge and the Food Fridge takes a shockingly long time to get into people’s heads. Eventually, though, responses to questions from downstairs stop being “That’s a Stark question” or “That’s a SHIELD question”, and mostly become, “That’s a Darcy question”. Scheduling, supply orders, suppliers, project prioritization, time off, business trips, professional development….everything crosses her desk, and everything has her name on it.

She gets Jane and Erik onto semi-regular, mostly-ten-to-six schedules, which means that Jane is going up to her apartment in time for something like dinner at about the same time each night and doing something like sleeping at some point each night. Erik, for his part, is happiest when he has routine, which is why the whole Loki incident took him so long to recover from--there is nothing more disruptive than having someone else in your head, rewriting everything you’ve worked so hard to establish. 

Jane and Erik on schedules means that Bruce starts making time for breakfast and lunch, too, and Tony--whose preferences vacillate between wanting the lab to himself and wanting other people in there to appreciate his works of staggering genius--begins showing up on an elliptical, yet predictable, schedule as well. (Darcy receives a thank-you note from Pepper Potts about Tony’s growing predictability. She keeps the card in the top drawer of her desk so she can look at it when she’s having a difficult day.)

Despite her protests--or maybe in spite of them--Sam commandeers the common-room TV lounge to screen all four of the _Mummy_ movies over two nights. The next week, they stretch out all four of the _Indiana Jones_ movies from Monday through Friday night, and the general consensus is that where inadvisable sequels are concerned, _Indiana Jones_ does okay where _The Mummy_ loses its way and initial vision. She and Sam shake on it; Bruce folds his arms and stubbornly refuses to hear a word said against Willie Scott.

Movie nights are a regular addition to her new schedule, and Darcy does her best to avoid awkward interactions with Cap by A) never calling him by his real name, B) never sharing a piece of furniture with him, and C) never getting caught looking directly at him. Cap, for his part, seems to be happy to let her dance around him. He will occasionally side-eye her or sigh noisily, but Darcy chalks those up to seeing her eating junk food before she's supposed to be in his class in the morning. 

[Darcy's not right in this assessment: Steve is determined to stick to his self-imposed restrictions regarding romantic involvement with someone who is technically his student, but _damn_ things would just be easier all around if Darcy would stop looking at him like he's some kind of shark and she's a goldfish suddenly dropped into his tank.]

[Also it'd be nice to just sit comfortably on the couch with her and watch a movie. Sam's ongoing commentary during movie night can get annoying, but Darcy snarks with the accuracy of a trained sniper and it takes a lot of effort for him to hold back the belly laughs he _wants_ to loose at some of her comments. And judging by their relative heights, both standing and sitting, she'd just fit to snuggle under his arm if he were able to stretch one arm across the back of the loveseat... ]

Two weeks in, her first crop of interns comes through. That’s a rough morning. One know-it-all from the NYC Sciences High School touches a thing that is expressly labeled _Do Not Touch_. There is a small explosion; broken glass is everywhere in Bruce’s section and the lab goes into lockdown while Bruce Banner wrestles with the Hulk in front of all their new baby scientists. _Do Not Touch_ is banished from the labs, and two more of the interns choose not to come back the next day. Of the four remaining, two will stick around to become Lab Assistants when the interns rotate out. 

The gym mornings also suck.

It takes two weeks to shave 90 seconds off her mile time: great, visible progress that stops almost as soon as she reaches the 15 min/mile benchmark. She’s added 10 lbs to her curls and 20 lbs to her leg exercises, though, so she earns a rare nod of approval from Captain Freaking America after the morning warm-up.

This is the day after the _Do Not Touch_ incident. Darcy was in the labs late the previous night, checking with infrared and UV lamps to make sure none of the material from the exploded beaker had gotten on any of the other lab surfaces. She hadn’t slept well after that.

The training class has climbed things, lifted things, crawled under and over and through stuff at speed. Darcy now knows the difference between a fireman carry and a bridal carry (there’s also one Buckley calls a ‘damsel-and-monster carry’, which is where the person being carried is out cold. If the person being carried is actively resisting, Darcy dubs the action a ‘screaming toddler-carry’). She has a pretty decent right cross and an even better followup left body-hook, although it’s super easy for Buckley to get in a shot at anything below her waist: she ends up on her ass more than once, and Cap is still glaring disapprovingly at her lack of spatial awareness vis-a-vis anyone trying to trip her. 

Wrestling scares Darcy. Wrestling, of any kind, has always seemed to her to be a precursor to sex--no matter who’s doing the wrestling or what type it is. It’s _forceful_ , and her involuntary associations between forceful wrestling and sex mean that the whole idea leaves a sour taste in her mouth. It’s not just that there are hangups in her brain about body parts and restraining someone at close quarters; it’s not just that her boobs are everywhere, always, and she always feels like she’s filming the beginning to a bad porno. Pinned on her back, she can usually still kick and squirm her way to freedom; pinned on her side or stomach, Darcy panics, loses control of her breathing, and starts to feel like she’s drowning in gym mats and mammary glands. 

So of course the day after the _Do Not Touch_ incident, Cap makes them wrestle. More accurately, he instructs the class to “Disarm and restrain your opponent. Please no blood”, before pairing them off with different partners. Darcy swallows a nervous lump in her throat; Buckley will respond quickly to her tap-outs, knowing that Darcy is likely to be incredibly uncomfortable when she loses the upper hand--if she ever manages to get it in the first place, which has happened exactly once. But this guy she’s paired with, Cooper, he’s got the _build_ of a wrestler and the grin of a guy who’s been through _so many_ workplace-harassment seminars and thinks he knows exactly what he can get away with under the eye of a male boss. 

“We’re not counting points and touches today,” Cap explains, strolling between the mats, his ubiquitous clipboard tucked under his arm. “At the end of three minutes, I want to see one of you with empty hands and rendered restrained under the other’s control. Any questions?”

No one raises a hand. Darcy stares at Cooper, who’s staring back with a sharp glint in one eye.   
Cap blows the whistle. 

Darcy’s down in under thirty seconds; Cooper’s rubber baton and hers are discarded at the side of the mat and he’s got her kneeling, one thick forearm around her throat and the other pinning both wrists at her back. The hand that's holding her wrist is pressing, knuckles down, into the small of her back, almost at the top of her ass-crack; the knuckles of his other fist are digging into her collarbone and he’s not quite squeezing, but he’s pulling back on her neck, and from this angle--futuristic sports bra or no--her breasts are thrust out, guaranteeing everyone a healthy look down the v-neck of her t-shirt.

“Cooper, Lewis, ease up,” Cap instructs, planting himself by the corner of the mat. Darcy doesn’t quite kick herself away from Cooper but she’s scrambling, eyes burning and the embarrassing tickle of a runny nose threatening from just past where she’s holding on to her temper. She snatches up her baton, trying to do so without presenting her chest or ass at either of the men, and retreats to the corner opposite her instructor, fighting the hot sting of tears. Cooper, for his part, retrieves his baton almost lazily, twirling it by the lanyard as he runs the other hand over his hair.

Arrogant _ass_.

Darcy is breathing too deep, too high in her chest, not really getting air in. The runny nose has arrived, and she hiccups a little, wiping her nose with her sleeve. Cap blasts his whistle from where he’s standing, and his eyes never leave her. 

“Line up again,” he commands the room, and the other groups square off once more. Darcy’s glaring at him, and he’s still holding her gaze without blinking. Her whole face feels like it’s on fire with embarrassment, and while she knows the value of this lesson and she knows the likelihood of having to eventually grapple with a real live bad guy, she absolutely hates everything and everyone in this room right now. 

“C’mon, Lewis, buck up,” Cooper says in a low voice, meant for her ears alone. “ ‘S just _wrasslin’_. “

Cap stiffens at his words--super hearing and at this close range, he couldn’t miss it--but Darcy doesn’t notice. As though a floodlight’s been turned on in her brain, everything flashes white as soon as Cap blows his whistle. Cooper comes at her low, again, and she lands flat on her back. He's straddling her ribcage, a knee under each arm: speaking of porn, if this were one he'd be fucking her tits. He yanks her wrists, leering.

Darcy swings her knees and hips up, a move they do in warm-ups called a rope climber. One knee claps into the side of Cooper’s head and the other hooks around his face and Darcy _twists_ , snarling. Her bent knee slams into the mat and she thinks she feels teeth, but now Darcy's got Cooper face-down and she's pinning his shoulders down with her hips.

She squeezes, at the same time yanking his free arm back and up; his feet scramble against the mats, but with his center of gravity pinned under hers, and his air supply cut off by her knees…. His free hand slaps the mat three times, then patterns frantically against her thigh. 

Darcy lets go. 

“ _Fucking_ lab rat,” Cooper spits, actually spits, snot and sweat shining on his reddened cheeks. “Fuckin’ tryin’ to smother me!”

“Stand down, Cooper!” Cap barks. Cooper holds it together, barely, and Cap plants himself between them, his back to Darcy. “You both got your licks in. It's just an exercise. You're done. _Done_ , Cooper!” He snaps, as Cooper prowls on his side of the mat. 

Two more whistles end everyone else's matches, and Buckley joins her at the water cooler. “You ok?” She asks softly. “I didn't think Cooper had that kind of temper.”

“Dude had his knuckles in my ass-crack,” Darcy mutters. “...I fuckin’ hate wrestling.”

“Lewis.” She stiffens at the time of Cap’s voice behind her, and turns slowly to face his disapproving glare. 

“While neither of you violated the letter of the brief,” he says sternly, “it's my estimation that both you and Cooper need to work on your tempers. You are learning to keep yourself and your assets safe. You are not enacting personal revenge. If you have an issue with another trainee, you bring it to me, not the mat. Understood?”

“Yes sir,” Darcy answers mulishly, biting back the reply she wants to give. Cap’s blue eyes bore into hers, unblinking, his face unreadable; finally he gives a tiny nod and whips around, striding back towards the center of the room. Cooper, she can tell, is about to receive a similar dressing-down; that’s a small salve to her wounded pride, but one she can appreciate.

Until Friday morning comes around and she finds out she’s been reassigned to Sam Wilson’s class. 

“It’s not anything personal,” Sam explains while she tries not to fume. “I had two trainees wash out. Barton had two. Steve’s class was the only one that was still full up, so we shifted our rosters around to redistribute the workload.”

“Yeah, but it could have been anybody, and I’m having a hard time believing that he didn’t deliberately choose me after what happened Wednesday,” she says. She has the idea that Sam might report back to Cap regarding her reaction to the reassignment, but at this point she’s out of fucks to give.

“Why, what happened Wednesday?”

“I...got into it with another trainee. Wrestling.”

“Oh, that,” Sam waves a hand dismissively. “Not to burst your bubble, Darce, but that happens almost all the time. There’s a very select few people who actually like doing any of this stuff, in training or in real life. Wrestling’s a trigger for a lot of people’s tempers; that’s why it’s not something we spend a lot of time on. The question is, can you use the things we teach you and the tools in the world around you to get out of that kind of situation? Or are you gonna let your temper and your panic get the best of you and let yourself fail?”

Darcy sighs, and tugs at the end of her braid. “I get what you’re saying, C...Sam. It’s just hard not to take it personally, you know?”

“I got you, yeah. Would it make you feel any better to know that the guy you got into it with got transferred to Barton’s class?”

“Yeah, maybe a little.”

“OK, well, now Cap’s got four in his class, I’ve got five, and Barton’s got five. It’s as even as we can make it. Just the cards you’ve been dealt, Darce.”

“Yeah, okay. Yeah.” Darcy sighs again. Sam gives her a sly look.

“Were you gonna call me ‘Cap’ just now?”

“What?”

“You were gonna say ‘I get what you’re saying, _Caaaa_ ….’ “ Sam leans in, waggling his eyebrows and stretching out the syllable. “You were gonna call me ‘Cap’!”

“I dunno, maybe!” Darcy leans away, feeling two bright spots burning on her cheeks. “I’ve been in his class for four weeks, dude, it’s an honest mistake!”

“Uh-huh,” Sam looks entirely too satisfied with himself. 

\--

 

Jane finds her as she’s stocking the last of the supply shipment: leaded crystal chips, thinner than paper, which will hopefully form the basis for data storage that can be taken (very carefully) across the Bifrost and shared with the Asgardians. They’re too delicate to trust to the interns, so Darcy’s laying each tissue-wrapped rectangle carefully in a microfiber-lined secure drawer. Jane, for once looking more than three feet in front of her, slows as she approaches so that Darcy can lay her microns-thin cargo down and not shatter it.

“Will you go on a double with Thor and I?” Jane demands, without preamble.

“A double what?” Darcy asks, sliding the latex-tipped tweezers she’d been using back into their storage pouch. She stops, and stares at Jane. “A double date?”

“Yes. Thor’s been invited to this UN ambassador’s reception and needs….well, he called it an ‘escort’ but you know he means ‘entourage’. And apparently bringing both you and Erik sends the wrong message, according to Erik, who also believes he’s too old to go ‘tottering around a dance floor in a penguin suit’ “, Jane adds, with finger quotes, “and besides, you’ve been working too hard with clearance training and running the Labs and you need a night out in a fancy dress. Will you go?”

“So this doesn’t need to be a date; I could just go with you guys.”

“Apparently the UN likes everyone to have a plus one,” Jane says, “so the tables are balanced and no one is left alone looking like they need to be asked to dance.”

“Janey, honey, I’m not dating anyone right now.”

“I know! Part of you accepting is that I find someone for you to go with. If you’ll go. If that’s okay.”

“You’ve got other stuff to worry about,” Darcy replies. “Why not take a pre-established couple? Like Stark and Pepper? Or hey, get Natasha and the Falcon to go. They’ll be good for a night out at the UN.”

“Pepper would be perfect, but she says Tony’s not allowed at UN functions any more. And Natasha is public enemy number one to a large number of member nations because she dumped state secrets onto Twitter. And Sam says big fancy crowds freak him out.”

“What I’m hearing, Janey, is that you’re desperate.”

“No we’re not! Thor’s happy to bring you along as our plus-one, but he doesn’t want to _impugn your honor_ by making it look like he’s got a Midgardian fiancee and a mistress.”

“Can’t he take a Warriors Three and Sif?” 

“Off on Asgardian business, hunting Loki or patrolling the borders or something. Heimdall said he’d try to get a hold of Sif, but he couldn’t promise anything before the weekend.”

“ ‘By the weekend’? Is this thing _this_ weekend?”

“Nope, next weekend. Saturday. Why? Do you already have plans?”

“Only with your data and a treadmill.” Darcy picked up her clipboard and scanned it. “See? You’ve got an asteroid entering data range Friday night at 8, and it’s going to be trackable until Saturday afternoon or so. You want to try to figure out its composition, because you’re hoping there’s more vibraneum out in the universe, waiting to fall to Earth. Then you wanted to collate and compare that data to whatever Frigga tracks on her side of the Bifrost, which means prepping for a trip to Asgard, which means finishing enough of these--” she taps a fingernail gently against the closed storage drawers, wherein lay her leaded-crystal chips, “to test the data-storage theory.”

Jane waves a hand dismissively. “We’re not in New Mexico anymore, Darce. You’ve got assistants and interns to handle this stuff. And if the manufacture of the data chips is too delicate for them, give ‘em to Bruce.”

“Dr Banner is technically my boss. And what if he decides to go to the UN dance with us?”

“Do you want to ask him? Does that mean you’ll go?”

Darcy sighs, shrugs, and nods. “I know you’ve already told Thor I’ll go, and I could do worse than spending an evening chatting with Dr Banner.”

“Yesss!” Jane punches the air, looking inordinately happy for a moment. Darcy considers her in this unfamiliar aspect for a second.

“Please don't let the next words out of your mouth be “I win the Darcy date betting pool”, “ Darcy says.

“Nope. No betting pools. Just super happy to see you get a chance to get out and have fun!”

“That's my job, Jane, usually regarding you,” Darcy reminds her.

“Turnabout’s fair play, Darce. Pepper is gonna send someone to get us dresses tomorrow or Monday, and there'll be stylists and shoes and stuff Saturday morning. So don't dye your hair this week.” Jane turns to one side, offering her hip to Darcy. Darcy hip-checks her, then slaps palms up and down: not the most creative secret handshake, but it’s theirs, and it makes Jane happy. 

“Now shoo, while I rearrange a bunch of schedules to make sure stuff gets done,” Darcy flaps her clipboard at Jane, who obligingly turns and ambles out of the storage closet. Darcy double checks the locks on all of the cabinets and drawer units before making her own exit. Half her mind is shuffling duties and priorities around; the other is ...strangely pleased at the prospect of the UN reception. She likes big parties like this, and like the feasts she's been to on Asgard: everyone in finery, good food, nice music, maybe some dancing. Thor’s taught her how to waltz, and she's expected to remain aloof from the politics and tensions that inevitably underscore these kinds of affairs. Even if Dr Banner doesn't dance, this could be a really nice evening for her.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This UN thing happens.   
> Darcy exercises impressive self-restraint.

Dr Banner doesn't dance and is _also_ on the list of people not allowed at official UN functions. Darcy's disappointed, but not entirely surprised: the Hulk has done some damage to UN HQ property. Jane promises to rustle up a date for her, and in her infrequent moments if inactivity Darcy stares around the lab, trying to guess which hapless intern Jane's going to stuff into a tux for her on Saturday.

The next Friday sees her finishing the mile run in 15 minutes flat: a previously unimaginable goal. Sam Wilson slaps her on the back and crows about her progress, promising to rub Cap's nose in the fact that only under Sam’s tutelage had she gotten this close to the goal pace. This doesn't excuse her from the climbing wall, the obstacle course, or target practice, but her triumph carries her comfortably through the first half of her day. 

Up in the Labs, production of the crystal-chip storage devices (basically sparkling thumb drives, because Thor is a pretty pretty princess and Tony is inclined to indulge his tendency towards shiny things) is going surprisingly well. There have only been 2 crystal chips lost to klutzy interns (to the tune of approximately $35,000 apiece) and Bruce has overtaken supervision of the project. He's a surprisingly delicate hand with assembling the drives once the vibraneum circuits are stamped on them, and as of end of day today Darcy will hopefully have enough to store Jane's data on the incoming asteroid.

Saturday rolls around and at noon, Pepper’s army of personal stylists roll up to the residence floor of the Tower, armed with everything they'll need to make Jane and Darcy acceptable to the folks at the UN. Darcy is fluffed, trimmed, perfumed, painted, and polished within an inch, then buttoned into an ombre-dyed grey-to-gold gown that drapes high around her neck to minimize her decolletage and floats just to the floor. Darcy feels like she’s gliding, and blesses whichever of Pepper’s personal shoppers picked out the low-heeled slippers for her. 

Jane’s gown is also ombre-dyed, but draped in the soft, classic style of Asgard: it was brought back from Thor’s last trip as “an experiment in transporting various materials across the Bifrost”. Jane actually believed him the first time he told her that, and was ready to disassemble the violet-to-crimson creation to analyze its material makeup before Thor broke into her science reverie and informed her it was a gift. 

Thor is standing in the common room, resplendent in his Asgardian finery, when Jane and Darcy arrive. And he's chatting with a familiar tall blond in a black tux. 

Darcy actually yanks Jane back into the elevator as soon as she catches sight of Thor and Captain _Fucking_ America, hissing, “JARVIS, _close the goddamn doors_ please,” as she does so. 

“Darcy--!” Jane pulls blown-out hair away from her lipstick, glaring at her former assistant.

“The. _Fuck_. Jane.” Darcy bites out. “What the _actual_ fuck.”

“What?” Jane is bewildered.

“Did you honestly recruit Captain _Freaking_ America for this thing?”

“Steve Rogers is one of the few Avengers still allowed in UN HQ when there isn't a life-threatening emergency in progress,” Jane informs her, resetting the silken drape over her left shoulder. “Plus he looks damn good in a tux, and since when do you actively _object_ to him being here? Last time I checked you had a, a _gigantic_ wide-on for Captain _Freaking_ America!”

“ _Can you not say things like that out loud!_ ” Darcy is still hissing. “And Captain _Freaking America_ kicked me out of his training class for fighting with another trainee, remember!”

“You were reassigned!”

“Ladies, Thor is requesting that I open the elevator doors,” JARVIS informs them. “Do you require more privacy?”

“Tell him we’re having a wardrobe malfunction,” Jane orders the AI. To Darcy, she says, “I thought you'd be over the moon to have a date with Steve. Do you want me to tell him you're not coming?”

“Fuck no.” The words are out before Darcy registers them, but she breathes deep and resettles the soft drape of fabric across her collarbone. “JARVIS, please open the doors.” 

“Please enjoy your evening, ladies,” JARVIS answers, and the elevator doors slide open.

Thor is a prince and wears formality like a familiar garment because, well, it is. Darcy's seen him in kilts, cloaks, fitted coats, tall boots, knee breeches, and scores of variations that both Midgardian and Asgardian tailors make on the same themes, and he's never not looked good in them. 

But Cap… Sweet jeebus, but Darcy can't think of a single time when she's seen a more attractive man in a tuxedo, even if he's fiddling with his collar in kind of a self-conscious way. If anything, the evidence of nerves on someone who wears a suitcoat like armor makes Darcy's stomach flutter just a little bit more. A bucketful of feelings she thought she'd worked through or gotten over seem to break over her like a wave and Darcy has to smother what she knows will be an hysterical giggle.

He quickly adjusts to his normal parade-rest stance as she and Jane approach. 

“Never in all my centuries past have I beheld such an entrancing vision,” Thor declares, taking Jane’s hand and pulling her close. He leans down to kiss her, murmuring, “Nor would I ever hope to behold so intoxicating a dream-creature,” before their lips meet, and the giggle does bubble to Darcy's lips.

Taking refuge in the familiar, Darcy clasps her hands under her chin and bats her eyelashes at the pair of them, declaring with a dramatic sigh, “Oh, how utterly adorable and sickeningly sweet! Have you _ever_ wanted to _throw up_ more in your _entire life_ , Captain?”

His response is a little strained; either he's trying to match her level of saccharine, or he doesn't find the joke funny and is trying to hide it. “Heh. Straight off’a a vaudeville stage, you two. Keep it decent til after the party, ok, Thor?” 

A tiny expression flashes across Cap’s face and he hurriedly turns to Darcy, extending one hand. “You look ….lovely tonight, Miss Lewis. I hope you don't mind having me along.”  
 _I wouldn't mind having you out of that tux_ , Darcy thinks before she can stop herself, and gives him a small smile, hoping to hide her blush. “You clean up very nicely yourself, Captain,” she manages. “This should be a fun extra-fancy party, don't you think?”

“Definitely.” He offers her an elbow, and as she moves to place her hand on his arm that fleeting expression comes and goes again. It reminds her of ...something. A twinge? She supposes it's possible that even Captain America might injure himself in training.

Thor and Jane have finally come up for air, and JARVIS informs them that there's a limousine waiting for them outside. They head back to the elevator: Jane and Thor sweeping ahead like the regal scions of science that they are, and Darcy and the Captain moving more sedately, as they adjust their strides to one another’s pace.

The drive to the UN passes in semi-awkward fits and starts: lively when Thor and Jane are arguing, or joking with Darcy or Steve, but lapsing into silence when the jokes and arguments make Steve and Darcy address each other directly. Darcy sees the twinge on his face at least once more on the drive, but can't connect it to a particular move he makes. 

The limo pulls up and Darcy can see the pop of flashbulbs through the limo’s tinted windows. “Ready to give ‘em something to talk about?” Cap asks, just before climbing out of the car ahead of her and offering a hand to help Darcy emerge. She tries to shoot him a look, but he won't turn in her direction even as he’s placing her hand posessively in the crook of his elbow. 

There are photos, then inside there is greeting and being introduced, both as someone no one's going to remember and to a bunch of people whose names won't stick with her. That's fine: she's here as Jane’s backup. Captain America is also introduced around, greets a few familiar faces, and always comes back to, “And this is Miss Lewis, who runs the joint research labs for Stark and SHIELD.”

Then dinner, with a round of toasts and carefully-guided conversation. Almost everyone here is a diplomat, and speaks mostly in vague, pleasant phrases and terms while everyone is eating. Darcy swallows a dozen snarky translations to the pleasantries, along with an excellent meal, wishing she had some way to share them with Jane or Thor or heck, even Captain Freaking America. For his part, Cap eats steadily--like a soldier--and answers direct questions, and occasionally offers Darcy a lukewarm smile.

Every time he does, Darcy has to quell her urge to reach under the table and stroke his thigh, or squeeze his knee, or … _something_. It's a very nice fancy party to be sure, but that doesn't change the fact that she's seated next to one of _the_ hottest men she's ever met. Her brash courage flares and dies a dozen times before the dessert course. 

Dessert, wine and liquor, and then adjournment to a grand ballroom, where a string ensemble begins earnestly sawing away as soon as all of the guests are in. Dignitaries--Thor and Jane included--are more or less obliged to take at least the first turn around the floor; after that, anyone is free to risk making a fool of themselves across the parquet. Cap finds them a high-top table, assists Darcy into her chair, and then resumes the awkwardness of dinner under the guise of people-watching. 

The French ambassador stops by their table and addresses Cap far too quickly for Darcy’s ear to catch, but Cap stands, returns the man’s bow, and replies in the same tongue with only a little less fluidity. They shake hands with a shared laugh before the ambassador moves on, and Cap’s face registers that same twinge as he sits back down with a glance at Darcy. 

Darcy is growing more and more impatient as each piece is played, the frustration compounded by Cap’s obvious lack of enthusiasm at being stuck here as her date. She really wants to take her phone out of the sequined silver clutch it’s been stashed in since the elevator, but even to make a point about her date’s inattentiveness, that’s going a bit too far. Rules of diplomacy--or at least of pretending that she’s aware of the rules of diplomacy--means that she must remain blandly delighted with her surroundings. 

Thor and Jane find them after the fourth or fifth piece and Jane settles herself next to Darcy, eyes sparkling with excitement. “The Norwegian ambassador wants us back at Trømso, Darce,” she says, “so she can ‘keep an eye on us’. Apparently Norway feels that if Thor’s in their ancient pantheon of gods, he should be spending less time among Americans!”

“Must you say _ancient_ in that way, my dearest?” Thor asks plaintively. 

“Weren't you the one talking about the beauty of centuries before we left tonight?” Cap asks mildly, and everyone laughs. “As the _second_ -oldest person at this table, I will gladly remind you that you can't have it both ways, _gramps._ ”

“Admit to your cradle-robbing ways, God of Thunder,” Darcy teases. “You only came back to Earth to troll for a trophy astrophysicist one-one-thousandth your age.”

“I will remind you, dear Darcy, that by your logic you twice over hit an old man with your truck _and_ tazed the poor old geezer,” Thor replies with a grin. 

“Jane hit you with the truck, not me!”

“And you turned my own weapon against me.”

“Damn right she did,” Cap replies, a bit forcefully. Darcy covers her surprise with another laugh.

“Indeed. A fearsome little warrior!” Thor reaches easily across the table between them to chuck Darcy gently under the chin. 

“Will the pair of you not grace the dance floor?” He asks. “Captain, Darcy is a fine dancer and well-practiced in the waltz. We have often practiced together while Jane collated data. She can more than make up for _your_ shortcomings in grace and rhythm.”

“You're too kind, man.” Cap looks at Darcy nervously; applause ripples around the floor as the ensemble finishes another piece with a flourish. “If, if you’d like, Miss Lewis…”

“Let me show you,” Darcy offers with a slight edge to her voice. Feeling as though a butterfly is trapped beneath her breastbone, Darcy slides to her feet and holds out her right hand to Captain America. “May I have this dance, Captain?”

Again, that _twinge_ , almost hidden in the reddening of his cheeks as he stands. Darcy suddenly recognizes it and can absolutely recall where she's seen it before. Cap takes her hand, gently reverses their grip, and without a word walks her to the edge of the parquet. 

His hand stays respectfully between her shoulder blades as the first notes float out over the floor, and Darcy stiffens her hand in his to prevent clamping down on his left hand.

“So who's on comms for you tonight?” She asks, once they've moved through the first few steps of the dance. Cap has been keeping his gaze carefully centered over her right shoulder, but now those bright blue eyes snap to hers. Darcy gazes right back, keeping face carefully open.

Cap blows a breath out through his nose. “Aaaand I'm made,” he murmurs, though Darcy can't tell if its for her benefit or for the person in his ear. “It's Sam,” he says, to her, and Darcy feels the fingers on her back spread a little wider, as though he’s consciously stopping himself from making a fist. 

“Please tell me you're keeping an ear out for security reasons and not because you needed Sam to keep you from getting bored tonight,” Darcy says quietly. It is hard to identify exactly what she's feeling, but whatever the mix of emotions is, she's completely willing to headbutt Captain Fucking America in his perfect goddamn _nose_ right now.

“It’s… I'm....” He struggles for a moment, then deliberately lets go her right hand and presses his index finger into his ear. He picks up her hand once more. They haven't dropped the rhythm of the waltz in the least. 

“I need to apologize, Miss Lewis. I...I thought it might help to have Sam...talk me through a few things this evening.”

When he doesn't continue, she prompts, “Such as?”

He doesn't respond, just searches her face with his gaze.

_So._

“Well.” Darcy breaks their personal silence and eye contact as the waltz returns them to the side of the room where Jane and Thor are sitting. “Captain, if you'll excuse me please?” She tries to pull away, but his hand is pushing more firmly against her spine and for all the strength and whatever the fuck else Darcy's gotten for herself in the last five weeks, she can't exactly pull out of his grip.

“Darcy,” he breathes, and “please, let me explain.”

_“Fine.”_

His lips twist in a wry smile. “There you go. You got a temper, Darcy.”

“And you're _stepping_ on it, Captain, so go ahead and explain or let me go.”

“Okay. I screwed up,” he admits. “I thought I'd have a good chance to get to know you better, when Jane asked me to come along, but then you stepped out of that elevator and I panicked. I had JARVIS put Sam on comms for….moral support, I guess.”

Darcy can feel herself cooling a little. “I know for a fact you've been to as many of these receptions as I have. Probably more. Do you have Sam on comms for all of them?”

“Just the ones where I have no idea how to approach my date,” he says, and there's just a little desperation in his tone. Again his palm presses into her spine, and for the first time they're close enough for Darcy to feel his hip against hers. 

“So he's eavesdropped on all your dates with Natasha and Maria Hill?”

“Those were _missions_ , not _dates._ ”

“Ah. And this is a _date_ , Captain?”

“Will you please call me Steve?” He asks, and there's a plain degree of hurt in his eyes as he says it.

“Do you know how stupidly handsome you are?” Darcy blurts out. “I mean, come on. You must. _And_ you're the guy who wants a twelve-minute mile and then you kicked me out of your class for fighting. ‘Steve' is hard for me to do.”

She wishes he'd say whatever he's obviously dying to follow that comment with, but he presses his lips together instead and says, “I didn't kick you out of my class, and I want a twelve-minute mile from everyone. So does Sam, so does Barton.”

“Really not the point.”

“Then what is? The ‘fighting' you're fixated on? Darcy, Maria Hill approved the student redistribution. It wasn't even my idea. And you tussled with a guy. _That_ was my idea. It was the fu--the freaking exercise we were doing in class. Every person in that room got hot under the collar, and I talked ‘em all down after, same as I did with you. If I'm bein’ honest,” he adds, “I liked watchin’ you go after Cooper like that. You did exactly what I was hopin’ you’d do, and you put him in his place. Put me in mind of ...well, that’s the kind of reaction a gal oughta have when some asshole forgets who he’s up against.”

Darcy can feel the blush creeping into her cheeks, but can't think of a thing to say.

“Look, I know I'm about two strikes in on tonight, but I'm genuinely sorry for how I've been acting.”

“I guess I can forgive you that,” Darcy admits, meeting his eyes one more time. There is a flourish in the music before she can say anything else, and Cap-- _Steve_ \--takes the opportunity to spun her out and back, catching her much closer than he's been holding her previously. Then the music ends, and he takes his cue from the other couples around them and bows over her hand. 

Her hand on his elbow again, they return to the table. Thor is gazing into Jane’s eyes, obviously besotted, and just as obviously ignoring the half-dozen functionaries (and, very obviously, the Ambassador from Sweden) who are nonchalantly hovering just outside of earshot as he and Jane murmur sweet nothings to each other.

“My friends!” Thor greets them, tearing his gaze from Jane’s at last. “My lady-love has reminded me that there is an exciting astrological phenomenon in the making this evening. I suggest we take our leave and retire to the Tower, where we might all observe the movements of the heavens. What say you?”

Translation: _I need to make the earth move for Jane and we can't leave you here, so we're all going somewhere it's safe for me to take my pants off_. Darcy steals a glance at Cap, whose face is a careful mask of innocence. She hopes this means he's making a similar translation. 

“That sounds fascinating, Dr Foster,” Cap replies in a bright voice, and Darcy knows they're all on the same page. “I'm game. Miss Lewis?”

Darcy could put her foot down, ask for one more dance, stretch out one more hour in this dress….but the ambassador is hovering, waiting to strike--She and Cap have cleared the air, a little bit--And Thor and Jane are looking at each other with what can only be described as Hungry Eyes. The time’s ripe for their exit. 

“I'll have the data collected and ready for you in the morning,” Darcy says, as the limo pulls up to he Tower, before Jane can say anything about it. “You guys go start your Dance of the Beast with Two Backs, please, before we all choke on your pheromones.”

Jane and Thor grin at each other, at Darcy, and with a _whump_ Mjolnir is in Thor’s hand. He sweeps Jane up in one arm, spins the hammer in the other hand, and the pair of them rocket straight up the face of the Tower.

“Ah, young love,” Cap says, startling Darcy out of her brief reverie as she gazes up after Jane and Thor. “What are the odds of any of us getting any sleep tonight?”

Darcy shrugs and returns his shy smile. “You get used to the noise. Or at least find ways to ignore it. But Jane's a screamer, just FYI.”

Cap pulls a face. “I wouldn't guess it to look at her. Still not sure how the whole physics or mass works with those two, but I guess it's nice to see a couple who enjoy each other that much.”

That's the last thing he says before they head inside the Tower. 

And up all three hundred floors in the elevator. 

And down the long corridor towards the apartments. 

And into the common room where, indeed, they can hear an increasing litany of _sounds_ coming from Jane and That’s shared apartments.

Darcy shares an embarrassed grin with Cap. “Well.”

“Yeah. Earplugs for everyone, right?” Cap rubs the back of his neck. “Actually, we could put on a movie or something. If you want.”

Darcy does want; she wants very much, in fact, but there's still a tense thread between them, and she really doesn't want to ruin this feeling of, of _progress_ by jumping to conclusions. 

“That sounds really tempting,” she says, “but it's gonna take a long time for me to get changed and stuff, and I think it's just better if I call it a night.”

He's definitely disappointed, but has the good grace not to show it too much. “Yeah, okay. Well, thanks for letting me tag along tonight.”

“Cap--” she reaches out to touch his elbow. 

“Call me Steve, please.”

A deep breath. “ _Steve._ Thanks for coming. I'm glad we...got the chance to talk.” And, taking a tiny risk, Darcy stands in tiptoe to place a tiny kiss on his cheek. “Goodnight, Steve.”

“Goodnight,” he echoes, as she walks away. 

He watches until she’s around the corner and he can hear her front door close; she doesn’t look back once, just sort of _sashays_ down the hall, unselfconsciously, her dress glinting softly around her curves in the dim light. Steve then allows himself to sigh heavily.

“She let you off _easy_ , man,” Sam says from the kitchen doorway, and Steve glances over his shoulder in surprise. “I know half a dozen girls who would’ve slapped you in the face, UN or no, for bein’ on comms tonight.”

“Some help you are,” Steve scowls at him. 

“Coulda just told her that any two Avengers in a situation like that automatically means you’re working security,” Sam continues, picking through the bowl of popcorn in his hand, “and maybe she would’ve taken you up on the whole movie thing.”

“Didn’t want to lie to her,” Steve answers. He is suddenly very, very tired. He rubs the back of his neck with one hand, while the other starts tugging on his bowtie, hoping there’s an easy way to get out of it. “Let me guess: you called up something suitably romantic and suggestive, _just_ in case.”

Sam laughs. “Cap, you’re one of my favorite dudes, but despite all outward appearances I am not _that_ interested in your love life. You handle your afterparty; I got my own to go to.”

Steve’s eyebrows shoot up. “Oh really now?”

“Really, and ‘now’ is the operative word.” Sam winks and pushes himself off the doorframe, gesturing with the popcorn. “Nat had a hankerin’ for popcorn and peanut M&Ms.”

He can feel his eyebrows trying to crawl into his hairline: Sam’s been angling for Natasha’s good graces for a while now, but Steve’s been so preoccupied with getting himself geared up for tonight that he hadn’t noticed his friend’s success. “Wow, man,” is all he can think to say. “I mean...wow. That’s...good for you, Sam.” He means it, and hopes his sincerity comes through. “Good for you both.”

“Better luck to you,” Sam calls as he heads off down the hall towards his own apartment. Steve sighs again, watching his friend go. He supposes it’s time to head back to his own living quarters...alone.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> There is an issue with security.   
> Darcy's got it handled.  
> Where Cap goes, explosions follow.

She doesn't see him again til Monday evening, when she's finally back from the Labs and testing the crystal drives for transport. 

Of fifteen sample drives, nine have failed, and six have not. The six that didn't fail are the frustrating ones. They're used to digital data being lost--degraded, erased, or hopelessly scrambled--by the energy of a Bifrost crossing. It's why so very little Asgardian technology has made it to Earth, and why Jane hauls literal suitcases full of paper files with her any time she goes across to consult with Frigga about her Einstein-Rosen Bridge research. The amount of energy Heimdall pours into the crossing is incalculable by Migardian standards and data recorded on bits of plastic and ceramic and magnetic tape just can't stand up to it.

The six not-failed drives have not survived entirely intact, but their data is still recognizable and retrievable after the return trip. The failed ones are like their more mundane predecessors: wiped clean of everything, even their formatting protocols. Physical inspection has not yielded any outward reasons for the difference, and Jane, Bruce and Tony are all, in their own way, ridiculously and uncontrollably excited to find out why. 

Darcy has finally banished everyone from the Labs at 9:00, invoking the dire consequences of her wrath if anyone is found in the Labs before the following 9 am. JARVIS will run analysis and data samples for them overnight; there's nothing anyone can actually do until that data is complete. 

She actually activates a JARVIS protocol for the first time since becoming Queen of the Labs and locks everyone else out. Tony can probably override it, but the protocol auto-pings her, Maria Hill, and Pepper Potts as soon as it's deactivated--plus security, natch. Darcy takes one last look around the Labs before locking the doors and ordering JARVIS to turn out the lights. She’s on autopilot down the corridor and into the elevator, where she stands, brooding, long enough that JARVIS gently asks where she'd like to go. 

“Oh! Sorry, J-man. Um, my floor, please.”

“There is a small gathering in the common room viewing lounge, Miss Lewis. I have been asked to extend an invitation, if you are...feeling up to it.” The little pause that Darcy thinks of as JARVIS’ air quotes means he's quoting someone else directly. 

“Who all is there?” Darcy is really sure she wouldn't be able to handle her scientists any more tonight, but if the three of them are hanging out together there's a distinct possibility that they'll hatch some hairbrained scheme to break into the Labs before the following morning, and that is how the big disasters happen. 

“Sam Wilson, Agents Romanov and Barton, and Doctor Banner are in the viewing lounge. Colonel Rhodes and Mister Stark are in the kitchen area. Doctor Foster and Thor have retired to her quarters.”

“What's the movie du soir?”

“The _film de la soirée_ is the latest remake of The Magnificent Seven. It's Dr Banner’s choice,” JARVIS answers. His French accent is so much better than Darcy's.

“Ok. Thanks, J-dude. I might need some alone time--”

Her phone beeps, a long, warbling tone that she's assigned to one thing and one thing only.

“JARVIS, where are my scientists?”

“Doctors Banner and Foster and Mister Stark are still in the common room,” the AI responds, “but I am detecting an unscheduled entry into the Lab's main storage area.”

“Whose ID?” Darcy is already jogging back along the corridor, her pile of binders and purse left in the elevator. She checks her ID card and clicks the cartridge home into her taser as she runs: there's a light moving around the outer workroom, like a cell phone flashlight.

“No ID scan available. Miss Hill and Miss Potts have been alerted, but neither of them are currently located in the Tower. Security is on the way,” JARVIS adds as Darcy reaches the outer doors. 

“There's, like, eighteen things in that Lab that will explode if touched,” Darcy whispers, trying to peer around the frosted sections of glass and get a better look at what's going on inside. “Main door entry override Lewis 16, passcode _TonyNoTonyYes_. No noise, please.”

The magnetic lock disengages almost silently and the glass door swings quietly open just as her taser beeps and the green “ready” light flashes on. Breath rasping in her ears, heart pounding, Darcy slides into the front room, trying to make as little noise as possible as she maneuvers around the lab tables in semi-darkness. The cell phone flashlight has come to a stop ahead, and she can hear a voice murmuring, although she's still too far away to hear what the person is saying. Around the first divider, the one that separates the public area of the Lab from the interns’ workspace; past the second divider, which actually has another divider to shuffle people into the airlock and decontamination unit for some of Bruce's experiments. 

Now she can make out the voice, and she grinds her teeth together; it's fucking _Cooper_ , the _fuck_ , Cooper snooping around shifting glassware and stacks of readouts on the Assistants’ tables. 

“I mean, pretty sure I can grab some fairly nice electronics for you, too,” he's saying, shuffling through one of the Lab Assistants’ workspace with careful fingers. He comes up with a pair of Bluetooth headphones, neatly packed in a see-thru case. “Not all this shit is tagged for security…”

He's wearing a headset and still using his phone as a flashlight, and as he waves it around Darcy can see the “active call” screen, although it's impossible for her to see the ID on the screen. 

Fucking _Cooper_. From her hiding place behind the lab table, Darcy grits her teeth and tries to plan. A hundred scenarios flash through her head: tackling him, exacting revenge for his being a more aggressive wrestler and a sexist scumbag; pulling some flying-dragon-wushu magic and sweeping the leg...or manifesting her own set of superpowers, telekinetically levitating him to the ceiling and then pyrokinetically setting him ablaze and then, after a suitable vetting period, becoming an Avenger. 

She shakes herself a little, knee-crawls closer. There's about 10 feet of lab table between her and him now, and he's still talking on the phone. 

“No sign of ‘em yet, man. There's a secure storage room back in the off-limits section and my guess is that's where they're storing them.” Pause. “Yes sir. Delicate as all hell.”

 _My data chips_ , Darcy thinks. And then nearly jumps out of her skin as a deep, ringing voice declares, “Put ‘em down, son. Raise your hands and turn around slowly.”

Only the fact that she's clenched almost every muscle in her body to keep from making any noise or being seen keeps Darcy from falling over, hitting the lab table, sending a couple hundred thousand dollars worth of glassware cascading to the floor, and giving herself away. She swivels with creaking slowness, still crouched on the floor, and can only just make out the top of Captain Freaking America’s head over the tops of the tables.

Shit.

Where Cap goes, explosions follow, and despite what she told JARVIS at the door, there are more like _forty-five things_ that will explode in this lab if they're handled wrong. That's not even counting lost data, irreplaceable samples, and cross-contamination, plus time lost for clean up, possible data breaches…

There's the tiniest _piiing_. Her taser is charged and ready.

“Hey Rogers,” Cooper says, almost casually, not bothering to drop his phone or turn around. “Look, I'll be outta here in a minute. Just gotta find something a friend of mine dropped. Doin’ him a favor.”

“Hands up, Cooper.” From his stance, Darcy can tell that Cap is readying his shield to throw, which is probably the easiest way for him to knock a guy out and will _also_ probably result in a whole lot of destruction. “You're not cleared for this section and we both know you're not doing anybody a favor.”

“Shucky-darns, Rogers, you saw through my clever ruse. And here I thought you'd appreciate my alibi.” Darcy sees Cooper shift, and although she can't see anything below his shoulders, she's pretty sure he's put down the phone light and moved his hands towards his belt. Does he have a gun? She can't remember.

Before she knows what she's doing (or can talk herself out of it) Darcy surges to her feet and fires the taser. At this distance she can't miss: the contacts embed in Cooper’s neck and she squeezes the trigger almost viciously.

Thank all the gods that Cap’s shield is a shield and he almost always ducks behind it instead of throwing it as his first response. Thank all the gods Cooper falls to the floor between the lab tables instead of on them. Thank all the gods nothing explodes.

“Darcy!” Cap runs over, vaulting one end of a (mercifully-clear) lab table to get to her. “Darcy, doll, are you okay? Are you hurt?”

Adrenaline is coursing through her like the current still jamming its way into Cooper’s neck, and she feels as much like frying bacon as he looks. Without a thought, she rounds on the Captain. 

“You _do not throw_ your fucking _destruct-o-frisbee_ in my lab!” The words are delivered as a kind of screaming whisper because Darcy’s brains are locked in some abortive version of stealth mode. Distantly she can hear pounding feet and see the swing of flashlights in the outer sections of the labs: security has finally arrived. There’s a _chonk_ as someone flips on the overhead fluorescents all at once.

Cap backs up a step, hands outspread. “Whoa, okay. Okay. Nothing thrown. Breathe, honey, breathe. How about you, uh, give the stun gun a rest?”

The charge has been exhausted on the taser, but Darcy's finger is still clamped down on the trigger, and it takes a conscious effort of will to loosen her grip. Cap gently takes the weapon from her and lays it in the table, then his hands land on her shoulders and he leans down a little to look into her face.

“Better? You okay now, doll?”

“I'm fine.” She doesn't quite snap it at him, but she's not trying to escape his grip, either. “ _Fucking Cooper_. Of course it'd be him, on the _one night_ I manage to get everyone else out of here at a reasonable hour.”

Cap frowns. “Did you know someone was gonna rob the Lab?”

“No. Of course not. But we haven't been quiet about the data-storage chips and anyone can google how much they might go for on an open market. Locking down any part of the building sends a safety alert out to security personnel, and Cooper’s security. So: each chip is thirty grand, and the Labs are essentially abandoned for the night.”

“No better time to rob the place,” Cap finishes, as security personnel swarm into the area.

“Do not touch or disturb anything,” Darcy shouts at them, being careful to keep still with her hands visible as the guards flow through the labs. “There are a lot of delicate studies in progress and _they will explode_ if handled incorrectly!” 

The guards closest to her tense and deliberately slow their movements, almost creeping around to secure the Lab. 

Cap winks at her.


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Despite what Tony would have everyone believe, there's a world outside of the Avengers Tower.

It's 0430 and his phone buzzes on the bedside table. 

Steve comes awake instantly, cursing the ability even though he knows it's a lifesaver; he'd been dreaming, again, about a curvy dame in a shimmering gown and how if felt to press her hip to his and move across the dance floor. (The woman in his dreams is sometimes Peggy, but in the last few days she has, more and more, looked up at him with Darcy’s baby blues through Darcy's thick lashes.)

The message is an alert from an acquaintance at French INTERPOL: facial recognition pinged a man crossing from Austria into Slovenia. He's been picked up on a few different cameras between the various train stations, and there are enough angles for Steve to be reasonably certain that he’s got the right guy.

He sends a quick summons to his team and within about 45 minutes, he's got Sam, Nat, and Barton in a conference room. Everyone has cups of coffee, but even at this hour they're all relatively alert. He shares all the info he's got, and travel plans are in the offing by the time the sun's up. 

“A week, you think?” Nat muses, staring at the holographic map of the former eastern bloc countries. 

“At the outside. We'll split up in Graz and rendezvous in Zagreb,” Steve gestures, “and see if we can catch up with him.”

“It's only a short jump to Budapest,” Sam points out. “What are the chances he’d make his way up there?” Sam looks at Steve and misses Barton and Romanov’s significant glance. 

“About the same that he'll break north for Vienna again,” Steve replies, then: “What, you two?”

Barton glances at Romanov again and says, “nothing important, Cap. We had a ...an interesting mission in Budapest a few years ago.”

“Anything relevant?”

“Nope.” Natasha says firmly, and then moves just a little to stand right next to Sam. The Falcon’s arm goes around her shoulders almost automatically, and that seems to be the punctuation her statement requires. Steve gives her a little head-shake, then continues. 

“Okay. Romanov, Sam, you two get us a jet prepped. Anyone asks, you send ‘em to me. Barton--”

“I can coordinate from here, Cap.”

Steve raises his eyebrows at Clint. “ ‘Coordinate'? You mean you wanna sit this one out?”

“I think it's best, if you're heading into that area of Eastern Europe, that I not be with you. In all honesty Nat should stay behind too, but she's better at disguising herself at least and I ...well, I'll be a danger to the mission.”

“I'm gonna want to hear that story when we get back,” Sam comments. 

“Nat tells it better than me,” Clint shrugs, “so if you ask her nice she might tell you on the way there.”

“Wheels up in 45, kids,” Steve says, and while it’s not quite an order, Nat and Sam hop to, heading off to pack what little they’ll take with them.

“Barton,” Cap says, and Clint steers himself back around just as he’s about to make his own exit. 

“Yes, sir,” Clint says, not...resentfully, but he’s not happy with any authority figure so Steve doesn’t take it personally.

“I’d appreciate it if you’d keep an eye on the internal probe into Cooper and his associates,” Steve says. “It gets my goat that this guy got past all of the screening we do, and I want to make sure there aren’t any further surprises in store from him.”

Clint nods, brow furrowed. “Yeah, that little jackass turned out to be full of surprises. I’ll get you updates as they come through. I’m also gonna trace back on his intake team, see if anyone who helped hire him is red-flagged or should be.”

“Good idea. Thanks.”

“And if someone shows up for him, I’ll just let Darcy Lewis loose in the lobby and let her handle the whole thing.”

Steve bares his teeth in a grin. “Better idea.”

“Hey Cap….” Barton adds, too casually, giving Steve a sideways glance. “Speaking of Darcy Lewis--you know you could do a lot worse. She’s a pretty decent gal.”

Coming from Clint Barton, who once described three broken ribs and a dislocated shoulder with a half-shrug and a slurred, “Not my best day ever,” calling someone ‘pretty decent’ counts as the highest praise. 

“You and Nat have to find something to jaw about that isn’t my love life,” Steve grumbles good naturedly, then sobers. “Yeah, I know. Just been a lot going on, you know?”

“I do.” Barton snaps a quick, uninsulting salute. “Good hunting, Cap. Wheels up in 38, if I’m not mistaken.”

Steve jogs back up to his own quarters, running down mental checklists and trying to calm his own nerves. Now that they knew what they were looking for, the Bucky sightings had been cropping up everywhere--with varying degrees of reliability. Sam took a lot of the Stateside sightings, tracking dudes who looked like Barnes up and down the East Coast before he disappeared from Maine. He could have gone to Canada, or back across the Great Lakes, or anywhere in the world; now, it seemed, the WInter Soldier was heading back to his old haunts. 

Is this memory, or preference? Steve wonders. Does he feel safe there, or is this old habit? Is he on a mission, or is he operating under his own agency? If he’s not being steered by an outside force…is he Bucky again? Is he _James?_ Or is he always going to be the Winter Soldier now?

There are no good answers, not where Bucky is concerned. Steve unconsciously presses his palm to the left of his throat, where his collarbone--as dense as the rest of his super-serum-enhanced musculoskeletal structure--had cracked under the pressure of that mechanical silver hand. He knows, to the bottom of his soul, that his Bucky’s still in there...somewhere...buried under gods-know-how-many layers of mental conditioning and training. He _knows_ he can get to him. He just has to _find_ him. 

Steve tosses his closet one more time to make sure he hasn’t forgotten anything important, and catches sight of the bowtie he’d chucked in there...Saturday? Jee- _sus_ , that was only Saturday night. He smiles faintly to himself, and debates sending Darcy a little note: _Out of town for a few days; coffee when I get back?_ That’d get Nat and Barton and everyone else off his back about it. Then again, he doesn’t know when he’ll be back, exactly. They aren’t going in equipped to take Bucky down if they actually do find him, although between him, Nat, and Sam, they can call in enough favors and firepower to try almost anywhere in the world. His hopes are high--they have to be, he can’t allow himself to doubt this search--but he’s gotta be realistic, at least. This could be a two-day jaunt, and then he shows up at her door like a hangdog puppy? Nah. Darcy’s gotta have better.

And he’s got a mission to concentrate on, so when Nat pings his phone-- _wheels up in 5, just got clearance to transport an ancient artifact through international airspace_ \--Steve resolves to just talk to her when he gets back.


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This is what a good week in the Labs looks like.   
> Jane's brilliance knows no bounds.

The data is thrilling and unexpected and amazing and the reasons why mostly fly over Darcy's head, but her heart grows three sizes to see all her scientists so incredibly excited about the same project. Assistants and interns are running hither and yon and Darcy wonders if she imagined the break-in or the electric tableau of Captain America and fucking Cooper writhing under her taser. 

Jane’s brain is rocketing along at light-years per minute and there are periods in the days that follow when everyone--including Tony and Bruce--stare at her conclusions and conjectures, awed and frustrated that they can't _quite_ keep up. Jane has been brilliant her whole life, but these discoveries are coming amidst a bunch of epic brainstorming sessions with the best and brightest of Asgard’s very best and brightest. Jane is armed with knowledge that she's dug out of the flowing torrent of Asgard’s magical traditions, the ideas and concepts she's hammered into shapes that can fit around Earth’s square pegs and into its round holes. Darcy's been here with her before, and it's occasionally hard to remember that she needs to be taking notes and transcribing, instead of just gazing at her best bossfriend in damp-eyed wonder. 

Schedules are abandoned--within reason. There's a food order every eight-ish hours and the interns keep to their regular rotations. Assistants cycle in and out as they're needed, which means pretty much until they collapse. There is so much to go through, and that's before the specializations kick in. 

“Petabytes,” Jane murmurs happily, and her Jane-dar snaps Darcy out of her reverie to catch and transcribe Foster’s next brilliant stream of consciousness. 

“Petabytes,” Darcy repeats dutifully. 

And waits.

Jane _might_ be winding down. Information has be slotted into her brain six ways to Sunday, and now that the deluge of new data has steadied itself into a manageable stream she is allowing herself to relax just a bit and enjoy the knowledge, instead of processing it as fast as it comes. 

“Petabytes?” Darcy prompts after a moment. Jane glances over in surprise, as though she's forgotten Darcy was there. 

“Oh! I was just thinking that if this combination of crystal and vibraneum can handle petabytes of information and the estimated terajoules of energy that are output during transfer across the Bifrost, I might be able to build a sensor array to analyze the process itself. That could….” Jane trails of with an unintelligible murmur. She is definitely winding down.

“That's going to change all of our notions of interstellar travel,” Erik puts in, slumping into a seat across from Jane’s main workstation. Darcy looks him up and down, carefully; Dr Selvig’s excitement at this latest series of revelations have taken their toll on the older scientist, and after his health problems in London Darcy is extra-vigilant around him. She surreptitiously passes him a bottle if water from under the desk. He smiles wearily and winks at her, but acts the good boy and takes a drink. 

“We're laboring-- _literally laboring_ \--under the assumption that we need to propel ourselves into space and travel mechanically outside of Earth’s atmosphere because we ‘can't' build a better way,” Jane muses, with finger quotes. “But everything I've seen suggests the Bifrost moves….”

This is a big part of why the three if them have stayed a team for so long: Jane’s brilliance doesn't always translate to being shared outside her own brain, but with Erik to follow along and finish her thoughts, and Darcy to keep them organized and fed, they've managed to remain at the top of the game.

“Moves the space around the traveler, rather than the traveler through space?” Dr Selvig suggests, and Jane beams at him.

“Here's what I want to know,” Dr Banner puts in, stumping over to the other stool at Jane’s workspace and heaving himself into it. He already has a mug of tea, and Darcy can see at least one granola bar sticking out of his lab coat pocket: no need to mother-hen at the moment. “Dr Foster’s right; we're looking at terajoules of energy moving unshielded human bodies across billions of light-years of space. Even given the differences in our own physiology from an Asgardian like, say, Thor--a fraction of that energy has, in other circumstances, completely obliterated a human body. How the hell is anyone surviving this process?”

“Another good question,” Dr Selvig replies, “and I'm certain Jane's sensor array could help answer that, as well.”

“Did someone say ‘sensor array’? Cuz I've got five or six Veronica prototypes that I'd love to tinker with,” Tony declares, practically skipping across the Lab. Darcy looks around in surprise: they're almost the only ones left, and the big holographic clock on the wall reads 10:37 pm. Tony’s nocturnal nature means he's kicking into working gear right about now, but the interns and assistants have been gone a while. Darcy checks her phone and is almost shocked to see the calendar on her home screen says “Friday”.

“Holy carp everyone should be gone by now,” she rattles, and the circle of scientists looks at her in varying states of dismay. 

“I'm serious,” she adds, biting back a yawn. “My dudes, we've been at this since Sunday. I know you're all fed and hydrated, but the brains have to shut down and defragment and reboot and everything else. I would also like the all of you to take a day off tomorrow, at least, please, because if you drop dead if a brilliance-induced aneurysm in my Lab I have to do a heck of a lot of paperwork for SHIELD. Stark, I can't keep you out, but everyone else needs to vamoose.” She waves her clipboard at the table in a shooting motion. 

“That’s not how aneurysms work…” Dr Banner frowns at her, and Darcy waves her clipboard extra hard in his direction.

“That’s not the point, Doctor. I want you to go to a place that has a bed and a pillow and I want you to use them in the combination that seems most comfortable to you. I don’t care if you meditate for the next eight hours. Please go somewhere quiet and dark and close your eyes so your brain can deal with this past week.”

Grumbling--and yawning, because Darcy is right most if not all of the time--the scientist scrum breaks up, and people start finding binders and bags and jackets and shoes. Jane stays at her worktable as Darcy tidies up, waiting--Darcy assumes--for the other woman to be done so they can walk out and lock up together.

That assumption dies as Darcy finishes loading her purse and bag with Jane’s important binders and turns to Dr Foster. “C’mon, Janey, let’s blow this… _.what the fuck._ ”

Jane is staring down at a little glowing rectangle on the desktop. The rectangle is most definitely not her phone, although the dimensions are similar. The thing’s glow suffuses it’s whole structure, and is bright enough that Darcy can see a couple component parts under the...screen, let’s call it, she decides.

“Janey?”

“Darce,” Jane grins up at her, and the shifting glow from beneath sculpts her face into a slightly creepy work of art. “I think it works.”

“The...what works? Janey, what did you _do_?”

“Magic is just science we don’t understand yet,” Jane says happily, and Darcy knows from long experience that this isn’t a non-sequitur; Jane’s giving a whole lecture in her tired brain and only a little bit is making it’s way out her mouth. “But this isn’t magic any more. I think I made science.”

Darcy moves cautiously around the table to Jane’s side, and stares down at the glowing rectangle. It’s glowing a shifting series of rainbow colors, and from the sheen on the screen part, Darcy can tell it’s made of the same leaded crystal as the data-storage chips. The screen’s about twenty times the size of those chips, however, meaning that whatever Jane’s working with, it’s worth about three-quarters of a million dollars.

Also it’s glowing. 

There is a kind of rough chiming sound from the rectangle, as though someone was playing a recording of a church bell through some punk’s heavily-distorted guitar amp. The shifting light brightens a touch, and then, floating above the little rectangle, is a moving image of a face. 

“Doctor Foster,” Frigga cries, “I am so inexpressibly happy to see you!”

Darcy drops everything she’s holding.

“Your majesty,” Jane says, “thank you so much for your help on this project. I can’t---I almost can’t believe this is working. Darcy! Is this working?”

“Janey,” Darcy breathes. Then, belatedly, “Oh, hi, your majesty. How...how are things?”

“Lady Darcy, how wonderful. ‘Things’ are just fine here, thank you.”

“Is this a Bridge? Is this an Einstein-Rosen Bridge, Jane? Jane! Did you build a Bridge??”

“No, Lady Darcy, this is not a full bridge. What I am using is a long-distance communication ...well, I suppose you would call it a ‘spell’ on Midgard. It’s similar to the method we use to contact Heimdall, although this is a slightly altered version of that technique. Before she left, Doctor Foster and I tied the ‘spell’ to the device she’s holding, and it seems as though now that she is back in her laboratory she has calibrated it to work on Midgard. Quite the achievement, I think you’ll agree.”

“Holy shit. Beg pardon, your majesty, but _holy shit_.”

“Indeed.” The image of Frigga’s face smiles beatifically, then distorts as though someone is changing the channel. She frowns. 

“I was afraid of this…” Frigga begins. 

“Is someone doing a ...a working nearby?” Jane asks. There are no controls to fiddle with, and Jane’s hands hover over the device, wanting something to adjust.

“Most likely. We’ll work on this, Doctor Foster--” And then the image vanishes. The glow from the rectangle cut out abruptly: now it is just a grayish crystalline shell with Jane’s hands waving over it.

“It’s a surprise,” Jane says, speaking with the rapid rhythm that means she’s A) incredibly excited, B) incredibly tired and C), really needs Darcy to write something down. Darcy scrambles in her bag for a pen and notepaper.

“It’s not a full bridge and can’t carry anything physical besides light, and it’s specifically anchored to two ends.”

“Like a landline?”

“Think more primitive: this is string tied to tin cans. The only tin cans on the line right now are my crystal and Frigga’s, and just like tin cans there’s almost a guarantee that someone else can hear the signal.”

“Signal. So it’s digital? Wireless?”

“It’s…” Jane blows a frustrated sigh up into the hair across her forehead. “I hate to use the word in this context but it’s magic. Frigga calls hers a lodestone. The problem with adapting to Asgardian technology is that we don’t have a vocabulary to share. We call everything ‘magic’ because the other words the Asgardians use don’t make sense in our context. We could call it all ‘socks’ and it would have equal meaning. This is why the data transfer devices are so important: if I can get _raw data_ from Asgard I can translate it to our scientific vocabulary and then _we can start to understand_.”

Darcy is quiet for a moment, her exhausted brain buzzing as her fingers mechanically finish recording Jane’s latest burst of brilliance.

“Jane,” she says, finally sliding the notes into her purse and gathering her stuff again.

“Yeah?”

“Holy _shit_.”


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Is there really any such thing as a day off?  
> At least the laundry gets done.   
> Or started.   
> But that's something.

Everything is really empty for a Saturday. 

Well, not _super_ , not like _apocalyptic_ empty. It’s just that when Darcy finally gets out of bed and wanders to the common room kitchen to see if anyone left any cereal, Nat and Sam aren’t there watching old reruns of _Golden Girls_ in the lounge, and when she (somewhat guiltily) makes her way down to the training gyms, there’s maybe two or three other trainees and no sign of Barton, Wilson, or even Cap. Buckley’s just finishing up her workout when Darcy wanders in, though, and is happy to answer Darcy’s questions.

“We’ve been off all week; didn’t you get the memo?” Buckley asks. There’ ve been so many pings and alerts on Darcy’s phone since last Monday that she probably missed more than a few of them, but when she looks, there it is: _Unavoidable circumstances have called your instructors away for a few days. If your instructor’s absence necessitates the rescheduling of your training assessment, you will be notified of your new assessment date and time._

“ ‘Unavoidable circumstances’?” Darcy echoes.

“Welcome to SHIELD,” Buckley shrugs. “So hey, how’s things? Haven't seen you since the whole reshuffle happened.”

They spend a few moments catching up, during which Darcy wonders approximately twenty-six times if she can mention Jane’s new interdimensional calling plan because it is incredibly hard to not crow about that particular development. There's also a big part of her that wonders if last night happened all. Did the last week happen? Cooper, and Cap--Steve, the UN, Jane’s crystal lodestone….

 _What even is my life,_ she wonders, and only realizes she's said it aloud when Buckley laughs. 

“I know, right? I mean, I've had mornings off for a week because _Captain America_ , who is my _gym teacher_ , had to go off and be a secret agent somewhere. I don't know about you, Lewis, but this is not what I pictured during Career Day in high school.”

“Yeah, I thought there'd be a lot more green aprons and a lot fewer alien invasions,” Darcy quips. They both laugh, and part ways--Buckley to the locker room and Darcy to her old frenemy, the treadmill. The run actually feels good, even though she knows she's slacked this week and slower than she was last Friday. Here's the difference, though, between Lab Rat Darcy and Darcy, Queen of the Labs: she knows she'll get that speed back. _Jee_ -sus, she thinks: _What is SHIELD doing to me?_

She snaps a picture of her mile time and texts it to Sam, even though she knows that if he's on a mission he won't get it or be able to respond. Then, on a whim, she sends the same pic and a shorter message to Steve. Just: _not a bad time, for a lab rat._

He's not gonna respond, she knows, but she still checks her phone five times between the gym and the elevator and her apartment before giving up and stepping into the shower.

With her wet hair wrapped up in a towel turban, Darcy pads down the hall to check on Jane; JARVIS lets her in to the apartment. Jane’s snores echo down the short hallway, but Darcy sneaks in to the bedroom anyway, just to make sure she’s truly asleep and not, um, hanging upside down from the ceiling or something. 

Because that's happened. 

But Jane is only tangled up in her sheets, snoring like she wants to bring the ceiling down. Darcy makes sure there's a bottle of water and a tempting collection of fruit easily visible on Jane's little kitchenette counter, then she sneaks out to check on Erik. Dr Selvig is awake, eating a late breakfast, and makes Darcy promise she'll get outside the Tower sometime today. 

Laundry has to come first, though, and while her underthings are tumbling through the suds Darcy logs into the Labs and checks through the security and access logs. There are reports to file (remotely) and schedules to arrange (on a shared drive) and distribute--all from the papasan chair in the lounge. 

When her phone buzzes in her hand, Darcy’s heart starts to race. She’s only a little disappointed that it's not Cap-- _Steve_. Instead, Agent Barton seems to have been tracking her logins to the Labs server.

_Legolas: Got a minute for an ipod stealing asshole?_

_Darcy: If you're the ipod stealing asshole, yeah sure. I'm in the lounge._

Clint shows up a few minutes later, wearing surprisingly serious expression and carrying a briefcase. The fact that he’s also dressed in what Darcy’s brain insists on calling ‘tactical pajamas’ means that she has no idea what he might have to discuss.

The briefcase holds a few files and a couple tablets, which take only a little time to integrate into the kitchen table (because some of the Avengers like to watch Netflix while eating and don’t want to take their plates to the couches) and Darcy is suddenly privy to a whole lot of things she doesn’t really think she has the clearance for.

“I’ve been looking into Cooper and the rest of your training class,” Agent Barton begins (because even in Avengers-branded lounge pants, he’s not being Clint right now). With a flick of his fingers he calls up Cooper’s personnel file and even with all of the information Darcy probably shouldn’t be able to see, her eye is drawn immediately to the large red **terminated** that’s stamped over the bottom half of Cooper’s ID photo. 

“Now, you’re the one who brought him down when he tried to rob the Lab, and Cap and Falcon both tell me that you had a little dust-up with Cooper in training, just before he was transferred to my class. Did you have reason to suspect that he would target the area in which you worked?”

“Um, no. I mean, I hadn’t really had anything to do with him before Cap made us f-- made us pair up for the wrestling thing.” 

“Did he threaten you? Did he say anything after the ‘wrestling thing’ to cause you to be concerned about him?”

“He was mad. Called me a ‘fucking lab rat’, but I mean...I wasn’t exactly in control of myself at that point, either. Probably why I tried to squeeze his head off with my knees.” Darcy shrugs. “I didn’t take being called a lab rat as a threat.”

“Do you have any reason to believe that he targeted the lab because of you?”

“Do _you_?” Darcy asked. “Like I said, he didn’t come into my, my kind of interaction-space until that day in class. And I didn’t talk to him after that. Cap separated us after the exercise and talked to us separately, and he and Sam--Falcon--said that almost everyone reacts like that when they do wrestling exercises in class.” A horrible thought occurs to her. “Is he HYDRA? Did...did we have HYDRA in my Lab?”

Agent Barton shakes his head. “He doesn’t have personal or professional links to anyone we currently know has been supporting HYDRA within SHIELD. However, we didn’t know to look for those links until about a year ago, so it’s entirely possible I’m missing something.” 

“What I’m hearing, then, is that it’s possible that Cooper was just one of those people you read about in clickbait lists on Facebook. You know: You Won’t Believe The Things 15 People Did to Get Fired.”

“That is, unfortunately, entirely possible, and it depresses me to say that.” Agent Barton flicks through the holo images some more, until he comes to a security video: Darcy can tell it’s from the Labs’ setup. She can feel her cheeks reddening when she recognizes herself jogging up to the main doors on soft feet, taser out and ready.

Agent Barton pauses the video. “How did you know Cooper was in the Labs that night?”

“I have a passive security protocol that runs through JARVIS,” Darcy answers, trying to tear her eyes away from the image on screen: she’s got a list of about fifteen things wrong with her posture and stance, the way she’s approaching the door, and the way she’s holding her stun gun. _What even is SHIELD doing to me_ , she wonders again, and continues: “If I enact it, he alerts me any time the Lab doors are accessed, whether I’m there or not.”

“And Stark’s okay with you playing with JARVIS on your own?”

“Stark doesn’t--or didn’t--know about it,” she says witha shrug. “There are nights where _Tony_ is the one who needs to be locked out of the Labs and get some damn sleep, so Ms Potts gave me authorization to modify the Lab security. She can choose to receive the alerts, too, and they also go to Maria Hill, although I have no idea if she gets them or pays attention or what.”

“Okay, so you got the alert on the Labs being accessed, and decided to check it out yourself? Why not wait for backup? Or security?”

“Because they’re _my_ Labs,” Darcy replies hotly. “Because waiting for someone else to show up would’ve been waiting for the dynamite truck to arrive. There is _so much_ weird science in there, Barton. It’s like the Avengers Tower Labs are operating way outside of any regulations set by any governing body at all, and so much of what we’ve got running up there is primed to _explode_ if someone is stupid enough to touch it without tungsten gloves.”

“Yeah, I read your personnel-termination report for the intern. ‘The Do Not Touch Incident’,” he chuckles.

“Plus lost time, lost data, _cross-contamination_ , and all of the insurance and nondisclosure protocols we have that would be rendered totally useless if, say, someone made it into the Labs and made it out with a bunch of experiments in progress.”

“Did you set him up?”

“I--what?” Darcy sputters. “Are you off your goddamn rocker?” Darcy shoots back. “ _‘Did I set him up’_? For fuck’s sake, Barton! Of course I didn’t set him up!”

“You might have lured him to the Labs and concocted an ambush, or you might have antagonized him to the point that he felt retaliation was necessary.” Barton’s face is an impassive mask. 

“Are you,” Darcy grits out through her teeth, “honestly and truly resorting to _victim blaming?_ I ‘lured’ him in? How? Was I wearing a suggestive blouse? What?”

“Do you see yourself as a victim in this scenario?”

“I can’t believe you’re asking me this. This is complete bullshit, you know that?”

“Answer the question, Miss Lewis.”

“Fine, _Agent_ Barton: no, I don’t see myself as the victim. I see myself as pissed off as all hell because some jerk with a superiority complex beat me at wrestling and then decided to break into my Labs. Are you gonna ask me why I tased him? Fine: I tased him because the alternatives were to let Captain America throw his freaking shield in a Lab where we use a lot of glassware, _or_ to make myself tackle the robber to the ground. I didn’t do it because I believe Thor’s BS about me being a miniature lightning goddess; I did it because he was going to vandalize my Labs and destroy my friends’ hard work and it’s my job to keep that place running!”

“JARVIS, we would like some privacy please,” Agent Barton states loudly, and the table’s displays vanish from the air. There’s the subtle sound of the kitchen’s electronic surveillance apparatus powering down, and once that’s complete, Clint rubs his hands hard over his face.

“I am so sorry, Darcy. I had to question you about the break-in and I had to make sure you didn’t have anything to do with Cooper’s targeting the Labs because I think we’ve still got a leak somewhere.”

Darcy’s anger drains as quickly as the power from the kitchen table. “Oh my--holy crap, Clint.”

“That’s one way to put it.” Barton scratches his scalp. “I know you’re clean. We’ve had eyes and ears on you and Jane and Selvig since New Mexico and none of you have ever given the slightest hint that you care about toppling SHIELD or undermining Stark or doing anything besides, well, science.”

“Cooper was talking on the phone,” Darcy remembers suddenly.

“Yup. Wireless communication outside of the Tower--including cell phones--goes through JARVIS, who has to approve the sending device in order for the signal to go out. That means that once Cooper’s phone was added, his cell signal wouldn’t be blocked by JARVIS or any of SHIELD’s dampeners unless it was put behind a specific firewall. It’s imperfect, but it does prevent a lot of snapchats and facebook posts from casually giving away what used to be state secrets. But incoming calls still come in, and we can’t block signal going to specific outgoing destinations. Like I said: imperfect.”

“OK, did not know that. Wow. Can you trace Cooper’s call?”

“Yep. It bounced around to...the current count is, I think, twenty-seven different relays? And it was encoded, and it was probably a disposable source anyway, which means it’s been burned for a long time now.”

“Crap.”

“Yeah.”

“Can I help?”

“Well, you already tazed the guy,” Clint’s craggy face creases into a smile, “so I’d say you did your part.”

“Has he said anything? Cooper, I mean? His file said ‘terminated’, but--”

“That just means he’s fired, Darce. He’s fired, and in custody, and he’s been questioned more than a few times. But no, we didn’t kill him and feed his corpse to the pigs. He’s just not playing the cooperative stool pigeon, and even if he does, we can’t exactly take what he says at face value.”

“Sure, I get it.” Darcy chews on her thumbnail, unsure of how to phrase the idea that’s bubbling slowly to the surface of her mind. “Do you...I mean, is this something that maybe Heimdall could help with? He watches Jane for Thor, not in a creepy way, but maybe he could look at Cooper too.”

“Do you have a way to contact him?” Agent Barton asks.

“Um, I know Thor usually just speaks out loud to him, and once Jane put a sign up in her ceiling fan that said _Heimdall, I need to talk to Thor please_ , “ Darcy hedges. Clint smiles a little at that.

“Did the sign work?”

Darcy shrugs, relieved that he’s not asking a harder question. “Thor showed up two days later, so either it worked or there was a coincidence afoot. But I can try it, if you want.”

“ ‘A coincidence afoot’. I like that.” Clint presses the heels of his hands into his forehead, then starts gathering up his materials. “JARVIS, we’re good here, thanks,’’ he calls, and there is the subtle sound of _air_ as a couple dozen microphones and listening devices power on again. 

“You know what? Yeah, ask Jane to ask Heimdall or however that line of communication works,” Clint says. “We’re not quite chasing our tails on this, but it can’t hurt to have some supernatural assistance when we’re trying to burn a mole. And it’d be nice to have _one_ thing in this whole HYDRA shitstorm go our way, I tell ya.”

Darcy hasn’t the slightest clue how Jane’s lodestone crystal works, or how to turn it on, or even if it needs to be turned on, but she promises to enlist Jane’s assistance as soon as the astrophysicist is done rebooting. Clint laughs, and then from his briefcase comes a series of cheerful beeps. He opens it and removes one of the tablets, frowning at it briefly.

“Huh, team’s inbound.” He taps the display. “Looks like our secret agents are all done secret-agent-ing for the week. ETA 3 hours.”

“Um. Should you be telling me things about secret agents?” Darcy chews her lower lip.

Clint glances up at her, almost surprised. “It’s nothing you wouldn’t know in three hours anyway, and I’m not giving you the full brief on their mission. You live here, so you’ll know when they’re home, and you’re in training with Wilson, so you know that he’s been on assignment for the last week. I’m not giving away state secrets here.”

“Yeah, I guess. I’m just...I think I’m in a little further than I ever expected to be, even after a paramilitary intelligence organization confiscated my science stuff in New Mexico.”

“Your ipod was not ‘science stuff’, Darcy.”

“Then why’d you take it?”

“Because you have shitty taste in music and I wanted to save your soul before it got completely covered in techno slime.”

“Putting Loretta Lynn’s _Greatest Hits_ on there was probably a gross violation of my privacy rights.”

“The courts would side with me because you needed to learn what real music is.” Clint finishes packing up and snaps the briefcase shut. “Hey, there’s probably gonna be a thing, tonight or tomorrow, now that the spies are back and you guys have a bunch of science stuff to celebrate. You need to make sure all of the Lab folks know about it and maybe see if Jane can get Thor to cross over and hang out.”

Darcy raises an eyebrow at Clint. “Are you planning a _party_ , agent? _You_ , who we almost never see socially because you’re always locked in your own workshop making arrows?”

“Gosh, I love arrows,” Clint sighs dramatically. Then, in his normal dry tone, he continues, “No, I’m making a prediction, because it’s been a few weeks since Stark let everyone else behind the bar and there’s been a lot going on. It’s a cycle, trust me.”

“Okay…”

“Plus I think you and Steve need to stop playing hard-to-get around each other and just suck face for a little while.”

“Dude!”

“I’m serious! Look, you’re both always making puppy-dog eyes at each other when you think no one’s looking, and I know you both got your feelings stepped on a little. But you know what, Darce? You could do a lot worse than Steve Rogers. Hell, I know you _have_ done a lot worse than Steve Rogers.”

“Who even says ‘suck face’ anymore? And shut up about spying on my love life, creeper. ”

“It’s an anachronism, sure, but it fits, because Steve’s ninety-five this year and he’s an anachronism, too.”

“If you want me to go out with Captain America, you need to not refer to him as a ninety-five-year-old anachronism.”

“No, I want you to go out with Steve Rogers, who is much _less_ of an anachronism and a much better guy than you’re giving him the chance to be. Just try, okay? You like him, he likes you, you’re both making this a lot more difficult than it has to be.”

“Need i remind you that he’s been on a secret-agent mission all week? And that we’ve been in the Labs for the last hundred and sixty-eight hours? I don’t think either of us can be held responsible for making things difficult.”

“Stop arguing, Darcy, and invite him back to your place for a little bit. Heck, we can even have the party upstairs in Tony’s penthouse so you two don’t have to worry about the rest of the team singing ‘kumbaiya’ outside your door while you’re trying to bump uglies.”

Darcy makes the worst face she can imagine. “Your metaphoricalizing needs a lot of work, Barton.”

“Doesn’t mean I’m wrong. Will you at least try? For your sake and everyone else’s?”

There are butterflies trapped beneath her breastbone again, and Darcy heaves in a deep breath. “I’ll...try, okay? I’ll try.”

“ ‘Atta girl.”


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Excitement dies down in the Labs, but that doesn't mean nothing's going on.

Tony takes over planning the party. 

In his youth, Tony Stark pioneered and briefly led the “Days Ending in Y” party movement. Then the whole Iron Man thing happened, and his party personal cycled through self-pitying decadence to self-destructive exclusivity, finally landing him at the Pepper-approved trend of tasteful, understated affairs. Pepper’s approval is always the most important thing. 

And Legolas is right: the team needs to bond. Well, he doesn’t say it in so many words, but that’s the _gist_ of his statement. They need to come together and drink beers and eat foods that would fell the waistlines of mere mortals in order to form a more perfect union because Christ on a crutch everything that’s been going on has Tony’s head spinning and if _he’s_ feeling like he needs a vacation than everyone else must just be fried to a crisp. 

(Tony had encountered Clint in the living-floor kitchen when he went in search of The Good Coffee, and Clint had casually mentioned that based on Rogers’ spy work, he doubted if the super soldier had anything resembling a poker face. Tony had taken the bit and run with it, because _obviously_ poker face → poker night → Las Vegas-themed casino party, hello.)

In the end, Tony’s newly-developed sense of better judgement decides that he’s going to err on the side of Pepper’s approval and keep the whole night low-key. He does set DUM-E and YOU to building a heads-up display poker table before scrapping the project after an hour when all of Cap’s probable concerns about cheating, fair play, patriotism, and the American Dream start playing on a loop in his head. Instead, JARVIS tracks down a gigantic antique championship gaming table and Tony throws money at a dude in Midtown to get it refurbished in time for the shindig. Soiree. Get-together. Thing. 

Everyone in the Lab gets the invite at the same time, StarkPhones pinging in the same alert tone from about fifty different devices. Before they answer, every single intern and assistant in the lab swivels from their work to look to Darcy for permission. The evidence of this now-ingrained training warms Darcy’s heart, and she waves a magnanimous hand towards the Lab in general to grant permission. 

“Darcy,” Jane says a few minutes later, frowning at her phone, “what _is_ this? Why do I need to go play strip poker in Stark’s penthouse?”

“It’s a party, Janey,” Darcy sighs, scrawling a signature on a lab report and flipping it into her “done” pile. “Tony has decided we need to have a party and apparently ‘we’ means almost everyone in the building.”

“Is that a good idea? With the whole _security issue_ ” Jane whispers, “from the other week?”

“Please remember that Tony Stark is currently living in the Avengers Tower penthouse because he challenged an international terrorist to a pissing match and his home in Malibu has been destroyed,” Darcy replies. “Tony has much different ideas about security than the rest of us.”

Jane’s words have carried, however, in the glass-and-chrome environment of the Lab, and Darcy can see assistants clustering over their screens with worried looks on their faces. Darcy sighs and stands up. “Everyone, let me say something before this gets too far down the grapevine,” she calls, and heads snap up and swivel to face her. “You can all relax about the break-in last week. SHIELD security is currently conducting a thorough internal review of our security staff and I have been told, _personally_ , by members of the _Avengers_ , that our Labs are as secure as Tony Stark’s millions can make them.” This elicits a few chuckles and a few more smiles. “By all means, and by Tony Stark’s invitation, you are all welcome to enjoy yourselves at the party on Friday--and in order to facilitate the relaxed and worry-free atmosphere, I will expect your reports on my desk no later than noon on Friday.”

There are a couple of laughs and Darcy turns back to Jane, satisfied that the mood has been sufficiently lifted. “Actually, can we--” Darcy jerks her head towards the room that’s supposed to be Jane’s office (Jane prefers the space of the Labs and rarely uses the small room). 

Jane stares at her blankly for a moment. “Oh! Sure. Yeah.”

“I have been asked to ask you,” Darcy says as soon as the door is closed, “ to use your lodestone to ask Frigga to ask _Heimdall_ to help _SHIELD_ track down any connections Cooper had to HYDRA.”

“You...told someone about the lodestone?” Jane asks, everso carefully, after a moment.

“No. No! Oh gods, Janey, no, of course not. No, Clint asked me how you get in touch with Thor, so I told him about the Heimdall ceiling-fan sign and he asked if you’d try that again.”

Jane chews on her lip. “The sign worked, after a day or so.”

“Yes, but...don’t you want to try the lodestone again?”

“....Kinda. Did you want to do it now?”

Darcy shrugs. “I have no idea what’s involved in making it work, so if _you_ think it could work now we can. Or if you want to wait until the Labs are shut down for the night. Is there a time-zone difference on Asgard that we have to worry about?”

“I don’t think so. Well, once I figure out how the Bifrost transports people and doesn’t destroy them I’ll know more about what kinds of distances we’re travelling, so it could be that my perception of leaving here and arriving in the same hour is completely inaccurate and I’m really losing a week or so and just happening to arrive at a time that my own circadian rhythm accepts as close to the one I ‘just’ left.” Jane throws a finger-quote in there, leaning over to tap the code into the lock on the bottom drawer of her seldom-used desk. She draws out a heavy locked box, which she places on the desk, and then pauses. 

“The crossing could, of course, completely blow out the natural human circadian rhythm and thus my sense of equilibrium is just grabbing on to the contextual clues it finds and formulating a new normal based on the total erasure of the old,” she muses. 

“Janey.”

“Phone call. Right.”

Jane opens the box and Darcy can see that the inside is padded with foam and what looks like velvet. The lodestone crystal appears inert, but as soon as Jane’s fingers touch it the little rectangle comes to gentle, glowing life. Darcy doesn’t know if it’s her imagination, or if the thing actually emits a satisfied hum at Jane’s touch. Lifting it out, Jane glances at Darcy and blows a nervous breath out. 

“Doctor Foster?” A tiny voice comes from the crystal, and after a second of ...static? _Can we call that static?_ Darcy wonders, letting out her own held breath. Frigga’s face resolves itself above the crystal again, and even with just the one prior experiment Darcy can see the connection is much stronger: the Asgardian queen’s face is clearer and almost has a degree of opacity, less like Stark’s heads-up holograms and more like...well, of course there isn’t anything to compare this to, is there? 

“Your majesty,” Jane says softly, “thank you for taking the time to speak with me. I apologize if I’m interrupting anything.”

“Not at all, my dear. I am pleased to see that the spell is holding. Is this a demonstration for your cohort of scientists, or are we still testing the lodestone to make certain of its capabilities?”

“This is still an experiment, my lady. I haven’t...I haven’t told the rest of the Labs about this yet.”

“Well, and there is no harm in keeping a secret for oneself for a time. Well, for yourself and for the lady Darcy, of course.”

“Hello, your majesty,” Darcy waved, and Frigga’s image smiled. 

Pleasantries exchanged, Frigga and Jane spend about a half hour discussing the working of the lodestone crystals--and Darcy can’t follow the whole conversation, because some of the terminology must be strictly Asgardian that Jane picked up on her last sojourn. Frigga tries a little tiny spell where they can see her--conjuring a small flame that sits in the palm of her hand--with only a little ripple in the “signal”, so the modifications that Frigga mentions but doesn’t explain must be holding. 

“Is it time to bring my son in on our little triumph, Jane?” Frigga asks with a smile. 

“Actually, your majesty, we have a favor to ask, perhaps of you, or Thor, but probably to Heimdall,” Darcy pipes up, hoping she’s not being rude or setting back interdimensional diplomacy more than strictly necessary. “I don’t know if Jane’s mentioned it to you, but we had a small security breach the other day…”

She runs down the request and the reasoning behind it, while Frigga’s image adopts a serious expression. “I will put the request forth to Heimdall, ladies, and gladly. Our new discovery must be carefully cultivated and I would regret it falling prey to unscrupulous brigands. Do you wish me to keep this from Thor as well?”

“I don’t think that’s necessary, your majesty. I think Thor would be happy to know the lodestones work at this stage and I...I would be happy to hear from him while he’s away.”

The longing in Jane’s voice and face might not translate across the interdimensional miles, but Darcy can plainly see how much she misses the god of thunder. 

The conversation ends soon after this, and Jane and Darcy stare at each other for a few moments while the glow in the lodestone fades back to nothing. Jane flips the ends of her sleeves down over her fingertips to pack the lodestone back in its case--apparently her touch is what activates the signal, or spell, or whatever. Anyways, it’s done: Heimdall will do what he does to look into what he can look into, if he can; that’s a thing for Darcy to check off her list. 

The Labs can shut down on schedule tonight, because now that the new data is collected it can be otherwise handled at leisure. Darcy shoos everyone out and takes a second and third check-up on Jane’s office door before turning out the lights and enacting the passive security protocol. 

“I must advise you, Miss Lewis, that Mr Stark is now aware of your security protocol, “ JARVIS informs her while she’s standing outside the lab doors, inputting her passcode and setting the other security systems to active. 

“Yeah, I figured,” Darcy said. “Do you know who told him?”

“I am afraid that I did,” JARVIS replies. “Mr Stark asked how you happened to be the first person on the scene when the laboratories were breached. I apologize if I have overstepped my bounds.”

Darcy shrugs, not really bothered. “Eh, it’s Tony’s building in the end, isn’t it? And you’re the building’s AI, so I guess I can’t be surprised or mad that you’re not allowed to keep secrets from him.” 

“Your nonchalance is appreciated, Miss Lewis.”

Her email alert pings in the elevator, and she opens the message to find an Official Declaration from SHIELD training:

_Your personal safety and security evaluation will be held during your normal class meeting time tomorrow. Please prepare for class in the manner to which you are accustomed. As a reminder, these are the minimum requirements you must meet to succeed the evaluation. Trainees who fail the evaluation will be eligible to reapply for training after a six-week waiting period._

Darcy runs down the list, wide-eyed. It looks like it will be a modified obstacle course, with stations to lift and carry various objects of various weights, things to climb over or climb up, and dummy doors and windows to force open or hold closed. There’s also a basic fitness portion, where she’ll have to demonstrate her capacity for push-ups, squats, sit-ups, chin-ups...and running. 

There it is, in black and white: _Trainees are expected to run 1 mile on a treadmill and complete that mile in 12m:00s or fewer._

A twelve-minute mile means running at six miles per hour on a 3-degree incline for 12 minutes. 

“I can’t do this,” Darcy whispers to herself, and feels the tears prick threateningly behind her eyes.


	9. Chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Big Day Arrives.  
> Well, one of them, anyway.

And now it is the next morning and she is back in the gym with all of the trainees and Darcy is second-guessing any and every decision she’s ever made, including applying for Dr Foster’s internship in New Mexico in the first place. Buckley and the other trainees are stretching and chatting and warming up; Darcy is sitting on the ground in a spread-legged stretch, but not doing a whole lot to actually stretch out or warm up. She’s made herself eat a protein bar and a banana and those, too, seem like mistakes. Sam, Clint, and Cap-- _Steve_ \--have set up the obstacle course across the largest gymnasium and are calling trainees forward at five-minute intervals. There are other judges (instructors? assistants?) at various points along the course, but the Big Three have planted themselves at the beginning of the first obstacle--the over/under/through section--and are cheering or pep-talking or something to everyone they send through. 

“Keenan!” gets called, and then, “Kellogg!”, followed by “Larsen!” and finally, “Lewis!” and Darcy thinks all of a sudden that she has food poisoning because she almost throws up on her own shoes. She has never, ever noticed her palms sweating before, but now she has to pull the ends of her sleeves down into her hands because otherwise she’s going to look like some kind of mutant water-bender. She could swear her fingers are dripping as she scuttles up to the start line. 

“You got this, Lewis,” Clint says, clapping her on the shoulder.

“Just like in class, Darce. One thing at a time,” Sam reminds her.

“You can do it,” is all Cap says, but Steve also offers her a heart-melting little smile. 

Darcy breathes in deep, shakes out her hands, and takes off when Sam barks, “GO!”

Each trainee is shown their splits, times, and stats at the end of their run. Darcy’s not ashamed to see that most of her recorded times and weights fall into the middle of the pack, as far as her whole training group is concerned; she’s scored in the top 10 for marksmanship, for which skill she credits the number of times she’s had to take down gods, robbers, and muggers with her taser. 

She finished the mile in 12:08, and doesn’t know how to feel about that. She’s not the only one who didn’t make the cutoff time, but she’s also the only one in this training class who isn’t going into active agent training or security. Knowing that doesn’t help sort out the elation and disappointment that keep washing through her across the rest of the day. 

Afterwards, she showers, and eats a bigger meal, and goes up to the Labs, where there are expense reports to reconcile and interns to grade and the everpresent schedules to sort out. By the end of the day, the details of her assessment run are already fading. She can tell the people who ask--Erik, Jane, Bruce, and eventually, Tony (who promises her pizza, beer, cake, whiskey, and pie at Friday’s shindig)--that overall it didn’t go too badly, but that the running sucked. 

By the time six pm rolls around, Darcy’s wiped and ready for bed--down the elevator, don’t even kick your shoes off, just fall into _bed_. 

Of course she can’t get through the kitchen. 

As soon as she steps off the elevator (heels in hand), a tinny rendition of _Pomp and Circumstance_ starts playing from Natasha’s phone and she’s showered with a fistful of confetti. “You made it!” The redheaded superspy crows, and she, Clint, Sam, and Bruce crowd around Darcy for an awkward, weirdly handsy hug. Natasha is squeezing her cheeks, her biceps, her shoulders, like some proud Russian grandmother. More confetti rains down, and Tony blasts an incredibly rude-sounding note on a curling noisemaker, then grins at her.

“Lewis, you look like you went a few rounds with Banner over data protocols or something,” Stark declares, and effortlessly parts the group to take Darcy by the shoulders and guide her into the common area. (Behind them, DUM-E scrolls into the area the group has left and starts picking up pieces of confetti from the carpet, one by one. Because there’s nowhere to put them, the bot drops them again once they’re picked up, but hey, it’s the thought that counts)

“I thought the party was tomorrow?” Darcy mumbles, trying to get her brain to kickstart and function for just a little while longer, but she can feel the mental gas-gauge needle hovering around zero and doesn’t know if that’s going to be possible.

“Sure, tomorrow party, but tonight, movies! Your choice,” Tony adds, spinning off into the kitchen. There are about ten pizza boxes and a few dozen styrofoam containers stacked on the main counter, along with drinks, and Darcy’s pretty sure she can see a cake hovering in the background.

Natasha and Sam get her settled in the papasan chair and Jane brings her a plate, loaded with pizza and chicken wings. The rest of the Avengers get their own plates taken care of and Darcy lets the customary squabbling about genres and titles and choices of pizza toppings wash over her. Sam and Natasha’s side of the conversation somehow takes in Darcy’s assessment and Natasha’s insistence that all SHIELD employees learn to run in heels--no matter what their declared gender is--and from there, nothing will do but a review of the latest _Cretaceous Park_ movie. Darcy happily chews her way through the plate of pizza, obediently drinks the bottle of hard cider Jane presses into her hand, and has room to take a couple bites of chocolate cake before the trundling fog of exhaustion completely overtakes her. She’s asleep in the papasan chair before _Cretaceous Park_ ’s intrepid redheaded director (modeled, the gossip magazines say, on Pepper Potts) has driven off to consult the gruff, handsome head game warden. 

Steve has hung back. He and Clint have taught the training classes for almost a year, and the post-assessment pattern has held true for each six-week session’s participants: between anticipation, stress, and training, the assessment is like pulling the bung out of a barrel--everything just runs out at the end. Darcy’s also been working day and night in the Labs since she got to the Tower. He’s a little surprised at how long she stays awake to eat once the movie starts. 

About halfway through the movie, Steve starts to unobtrusively clean up plates and napkins and other debris; he finds a blanket and covers Darcy, and watches the rest of the film from the end of the loveseat nearest to her habitual perch in the papasan chair. To tell the truth, he’d be perfectly happy scooping her up and tucking her into bed, but when he looks a question at Dr Foster she just waves him back into his seat. So he grabs one of his little sketchbooks and a pen and doodles for the rest of the movie: feathered dinosaurs, the curve of Darcy’s forehead rising from the bowl of the chair, Sam in a firefight with a tech-laden pterodactyl. Paleontology has grown and expanded _so much_ since he was a kid, and the dinosaurs portrayed in the movie--the whole series, in fact, and why the hell didn’t these folks learn their lesson the first time? He wonders, completely missing his own ironic status as original science experiment sitting in a room with at least two other sequential science experiments--are leaner, faster, and meaner than the trundling behemoths he remembers from school trips to the Natural History Museum. HOllywood apparently missed the memo about skin textures, scale textures, fur and feathers, though, so he makes sure his pterodactyl has a fantastic fan-tail as it swoops down on the Falcon. The fan-tail flows nicely into a sketch of Darcy’s loosened curls as they cascade over the edge of the chair.


	10. Chapter 10

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Naps do everybody good.  
> Some people are effing gifts that just keep on giving.   
> Excitement!

Darcy stirs while the credits roll, and Steve wishes he had time to capture the soft, unguarded look on her face as she blinks awake. Her face quickly settles into the look she normally wears: stubborn chin, eyes wide and searching, lips quirked as though she’s waiting to find out the punchline. She yawns, stretches, and looks around at the party breaking up. 

“What’d I miss?” She asks, and Steve lets himself smile. (She is just so fucking _cute_ , damnit.) 

“Just a lot of teeth and claws and another improbable _deus ex ichthyosaur_ ,” Steve replies. “All of the guys who deserved to get eaten, got eaten.”

“White folks with money,” Sam stands, stretches, and shakes his head. “Some of you never learn.”

Tony spreads his hands, a stricken expression on his face. “What did I do?”

“Lots of things, most of which no one is going to find out about until it’s too late,” Nat answers, accepting Sam’s help up from their couch. “I do hope the dinosaurs you grow in the Labs upstairs are all herbivores, or at least less fast.”

“They’re all corgi-sized,” Darcy puts in. “Corgi-sized and feathery. We’ve got a T-rex the size of a turkey for you, Natasha. I make sure nothing gets bigger than that.”

“I look forward to adopting my toothy turkey,” Natasha replies solemnly, and winks. “Now Redwing will have someone to play with!” She squeezes Sam around the ribs, and he protests. 

Here’s the problem: everyone else is saying good night and heading off to their respective quarters, but thanks to her nap, Darcy’s awake now and still hungry. She wanders into the kitchen to browse the leftovers after bidding Jane and Bruce a good night, and is somehow not surprised when Cap-- _Steve_ \--lingers at the other end of the kitchen counter.

“I was hoping to talk to you,” he begins, as Darcy turns around from the fridge with a slice of cold pepperoni in one hand and a soda in the other. 

Darcy swallows the erstwhile cookie she’d been munching. “Is this where you tell me you’re not _mad_ I didn’t pass, just _disappointed_?”

“What? Darcy, no. You mean the assessment today?” he asks, and Darcy nods. “You passed, Darcy. You completed all the training assessments and while your run was outside of the parameters, that just means you got, I guess, a B instead of an A-plus.”

“Oh.” She finds a paper towel and slides the pizza into the microwave. “I thought it was pass-fail, not graded.”

Steve shrugs. “SHIELD makes a lot of things really complicated for no good reason, including training. You’re scored on a scale for almost everything. Since you’re in the Labs and not out risking your skin on intel, you needed to get a good grade, not actually pass with a perfect score. I’m sure if you wanted to take, say, Nat’s hand-to-hand classes, you’d just need her approval to get in.”

“Well, that’s good to hear. I ...kinda really wanted that 12-minute mile, though,” and as the microwave beeps, she adds, “despite all evidence to the contrary.”

Steve shrugs, and offers her a genuine smile. “So keep working at it. Get up in the morning and get back on the treadmill. Nothin’ stoppin’ you from doing that. And maybe we sign you up for the Marathon next year.”

“Ha! No.” The day Darcy ran the New York City Marathon--in which some or all of the Avengers had competed, in costume, for various charities, every year--would be the day she hung up her lab coat and went back to Taos to wear turquoise and silver and a poncho and paint desert sunsets for the rest of her life. In a word, _never_. “I might take tomorrow off,” she says, blowing on the pizza slice.

“And you deserve it. I’m no expert, but I think you work too hard.”

“Says the man who was _working security_ on our date at the UN?”

Steve blushes a little. “I’m not forgiven for that, huh?”

“Oh, I suppose you can be. I’d fire Sam as your wing man, though. He’s not very good.”

“Guys with girlfriends never are. They start becoming experts on one dame and lose perspective on the rest of ya.”

Darcy makes a face, unsure of what to say next. This is flirting, or at least the leading edge of flirting, and it feels like….with the evaporating anxiety of the training assessment and everything that's been going on in the Labs, and _fucking Cooper_ , Darcy is suddenly a bit overwhelmed.

“Yeah,” Steve says into the silence, “yeah.” 

“What?” Darcy asks, startled out of her contemplation.

“This is...this.” Steve blows a sigh out and runs a hand through his hair, making it stick up in the back. Darcy falls immediately in love with the look: he is so much younger and less serious in this moment. So much less Captain _Freaking_ America, and so much more the headstrong little punk who would become him. 

“I like you,” Darcy blurts, and her cheeks ignite instantly. She'll be burnt lobster red in no time. “I mean, I think you're...really sweet, and um, I find myself, uh, physically attracted to you in a very distracting manner and aw crap, I just said that, didn't I?”

“You did,” Steve murmurs, eyes wide in his own blushing face. “You beat me to it, doll. I mean, can I be honest with you? Please?”

Darcy nods, toying with the crust of her pizza.

“You're a _hell_ of a distraction. I just...shit.”

 _Captain Freaking America swore in front of me_ is Darcy's most coherent thought before Steve leans across the kitchen counter and presses his mouth to hers. She inhales sharply through her nose in surprise but then one of his hands is sliding up her neck, into her hair and cupping the back of her head…

Darcy sees stars for a second when he pulls away. Steve, equally dazed at his own daring, searches her face for some reaction. 

“Okay, yeah,” Darcy mumbles, and breaks into a wide grin, biting her lip. “I'm glad we're on the same page with this.” A few weeks ago she wouldn't have had the strength to boost herself up onto the counter--would have, in fact, made a horrible fool of herself by even trying, and probably would have gotten injured somehow. But that was then and this is now and Darcy hops up onto the kitchen counter, pushing her snacks aside, and swings both legs onto Steve’s side so that he's standing between her knees. His hands come up to her shoulders almost automatically, and the tickle of his fingers tracing down the back of her arms makes her shiver agreeably.

“Hi,” he says wonderingly, and she says, “Hi” back, and then kisses him again, looping her arms around his neck and sliding her tongue gently against his lower lip, running her fingers through his hair, and praying--in a very small part of her brain--that the pizza and cider aren't combining and doing terrible things to her breath. 

Steve doesn't seem to mind. _Taste_ isn't really a thing right now anyways. It's more _feel_ \--the pressure of his lips against hers, the scrape of a little bit of stubble on his chin, the slide of his tongue across hers. Darcy moves forward a little to assert herself in the push of her belly and breasts against his chest, the delicious crawl of her fingers through the short, soft hairs at the back of his neck. He makes a noise that's either a chuckle or a growl or something in between, but it starts deep in his chest and resonates in Darcy's throat and her pulse thuds in her chest like a drum.

Her purse and shoes landed somewhere near the entrance to the common room when movie night started all those hours ago, and it's from that direction that the familiar high-pitched warbling starts. 

Darcy breaks away, eyes wide. “Nuh-uh,” she whispers, as Steve leans his forehead against her cheek and tries to catch his breath. 

“What?” He rasps, and despite herself Darcy shivers at the heat in his voice. 

“That's my Lab security protocol alarm--JARVIS!” She calls, sliding away from Steve and hopping off the counter, wincing as the balls of her sore feet hit the floor.

“There is an attempt being made to breach the exterior windows on the south-side observation platform, Miss Lewis,” JARVIS answers promptly. “I have notified security and Mr Stark is currently donning the Mark 45 suit. He should be able to reach the point of incursion in thirty-seven seconds.” 

“Get me up there faster, J-dude!” Darcy commands, sprinting for the exit--or trying to. An adamantine grip closes around her bicep and she whirls around.

“Darcy--” Cap glowers, and this is definitely not _Steve_ right now. He's also definitely not something Darcy has time to defuse.

“I will let you come along as long as you don't destroy any experiments in progress. Or try, anyway.”

“ ‘Let me come along’? You're not going alone, that's for damned sure.” Cap glances down the corridor towards the apartments, where a tumult is rising as superheroes are roused out of bed by the alarm. 

“Fine. Let's go kick some bad dudes in the dick, okay?” Darcy gazes up at him and her big blue eyes are glittering with a challenge.

Cap bares his teeth in an expression that isn't a grin. “Anything for you, doll-face.” 

They race to the elevator and JARVIS hauls them up at top speed. The Labs doors swing open at their running approach and Darcy skids from carpet to tiled floor, realizing too late that she's in stocking feet without shoes: a clear violation of lab safety protocols. 

The whole Lab flashes with a white-yellow glare for a moment and Darcy knows Tony’s made it there. She can hear the concussive whomp of his repulsor cannons, even through the heavy safety-glass that gilds the South side of Avenger Tower. The intruders--whoever they are--have landed on the Labs outdoor observation platform. Bruce put a weber grill out there a couple months ago. It's probably street scrap by now, or will be soon. 

“Mr Stark reports that the intruders have clear HYDRA insignia on their armor, clothing and weapons. He has incapacitated two of the intruders and three more are still attempting to get in through the window.”

Steve grabs her arm again. “What would they be after in the Labs? Why did Cooper break in the first time?”

“The ...I got it. I got it!” Darcy takes off towards the storage closet, doing her best to stay on her feet as her socks slip across the tile. There’s a rattling _boom_ from the direction of the windows as Darcy fetches up against the storage closet door, trying to catch her balance against the door handle and key in her security code at the same time. Steve is a step and a half behind her, bracing an arm on the door above her head and shielding her from any debris--although nothing’s started flying in here, _yet._

She yanks the door open, tripping a little over the bottom of the doorway and sprinting past the storage shelves to the second, more secure door at the back of the closet. This one requires a thumbprint and a code; the third, a retinal scan. She unlocks the storage drawers with her thumb and scoops out the padded drawer-liner that holds the six precious uncorrupted data chips. Very carefully, she rolls the drawer liner into a cylinder.

“Is that it?” Steve asks behind her. Darcy bites her lip, trying to weigh probability versus secrecy…

The whole Tower seems to rock and the sound of glass breaking comes from everywhere. Darcy yells wordlessly and lunges for the closets’ exit, her brain all exclamation points at the thought of the sheer amount of damage done to the delicate experiments in progress. Containers and boxes and cases rattle off the shelves around her and Steve yanks her between him and the wall, the padded roll held between them as everything falls down. There are screams, shouts, and repulsor- and gunfire from the whole of the Labs floor. 

“Jane’s office,” Darcy gasps as soon as it seems that everything that can fall down, has. Steve releases his hold on her arms and lets her lead the way. There is broken glass, shattered computer monitors, wrecked distillation and culture setups. The forty-five things that might have exploded last time the Lab was robbed have most certainly blown up in their little enclosures and across their work surfaces by now, but since there are now three missing panels in the south wall, there is shattered tempered glass everywhere. Paper and transparency cellophane whirls through the space like a flapping cyclone, sucked out towards the Manhattan skyline by the rushing air escaping the building. 

Darcy has to put her shoulder to Jane’s office door to force it open against the hard reversal of air pressure, and it sucks itself closed hard enough to crack the wired-glass window as soon as she and Cap are through the door. On her knees behind the desk, with hands shaking, it takes Darcy three tries to input the correct code to unlock the desk drawer, but she yanks it open to find the case containing the lodestone sitting, safe and serene. Hands still shaking, she lifts it out of the drawer and lays it across her knees, flipping the latches and slowly lifting the lid. Though inert, the glimmer of the crystal is unmistakable, and Darcy almost wants to cry with relief.

She quickly tucks the rolled padding with the data chips into one of the wide margins of the case and snaps it closed, then looks up into Cap’s face--he is glowering, his whole expression a brick wall, at the sight of the unfamiliar tech.

“Dare I ask?” He says, his voice just above a growl. He is made of suspicion at this point, Darcy realizes. 

“It’s something Jane’s been working on with Queen Frigga,” Darcy explains quickly. “It’s the most valuable thing in here, but I don’t know how anyone else would have known about it--”

Steve’s expression is clearing, just a little, when he and Darcy both catch the first faint whine of splitting air--a terrifying and familiar sizzle. Steve whirls faster than Darcy can really follow and somehow has the door yanked off the hinges and he pins Darcy into a corner of the office, between the floor and the outer wall, with his own body covering hers and the ruined door covering them both. 

**{{{{{KRA- _THOOOM}}}}}_**

The shockwave rockets through the Lab, shattering everything that hasn’t yet been broken, overturning any furniture that’s still upright, splitting the air before it and leaving the sharp tang of ozone in its wake. Darcy’s ears are ringing, a high, ongoing chime that reaches across her brain to wipe out everything else. She stares, wide-eyed, into Steve’s face, inches from hers, and feels a very different kind of electricity leap between them. He licks his lips, hungrily, and then seems to remember himself; Steve braces his hands against the wall to either side of her and pushes back against the door, and Darcy sort of hears the overturned desk scrape back over the floor. The increased space between she and him feels very cold. 

Thor has landed.

He is smashing faces and taking prisoners, roaring for Jane, for Banner, for Darcy. Steve kicks the door away and slings an arm around Darcy’s waist, helping her climb out of the wreckage of Jane’s office; by the time they reach a relatively clear space, Thor, Tony, and Sam have rounded up the remainder of the intruders and are just waiting for the Tower’s security forces to make their way over. Steve half-carries, half-follows Darcy back towards the lobby, where Jane is jumping up and down and waving hysterically at Darcy and Thor and only barely being held back from jumping into the fray by Dr Banner. 

When Darcy holds up the steel case that houses the lodestone, Jane bursts into tears.


	11. Chapter 11

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Have you, like so many, been waiting for The Inevitable?  
> Well, guess what....!  
> This chapter is NSFW.

Friday is Not the Best Day Ever. 

Darcy and Steve are finally released from immediate debrief with Hill, Hogan and Ms Potts at around 0130 am. Steve is actually let out first, since he's been through this kind of thing before and A) he’s Captain _Freaking_ America and B) he hasn't been hiding knowledge of a potentially dangerous and at the very least, paradigm-altering piece of technology from SHIELD, the world's _worst_ nosy neighbors.

Darcy has a few choice words for Hill in the end, which the other woman takes with an admirable degree of nonchalance. When her diatribe is over, Hill motions to the security guard at the door, and Darcy is shown out. 

Steve’s waiting in the hallway, leaning against the opposite wall like a brooding statue. _Adonis in sweatpants_ , Darcy thinks again, and --for all the sleep she hasn’t had today, and the stress of the last six weeks, and the overwhelming thrill of her short-lived makeout session that evening--she feels a prick of exhausted tears behind eyelids that feel like sandpaper. 

“Hey, doll, you ok?” He asks, sweeping up to her in two long strides and gently stroking a lock of hair out of her face. Darcy takes that hand in hers, for a moment too overwhelmed to reply, and nods. She pulls in a deep breath. 

“Yeah, no worse for wear, or anything else that’s happened in the last twenty-four.” Her voice doesn’t actually tremble, and that’s a pleasant surprise. “I need a shower and a toothbrush and maybe to wear shoes next time someone blows up my Lab.” She’s already been treated for a scattering of cuts on her right cheek and the back of her neck, from flying broken glass that Steve’s massive frame and improvised shield couldn’t protect her from; her knuckles and right forearm are scraped up, and there’s another glass cut on the side of her foot. There’s also the familiar all-over bruised feeling that comes with close association with Thor and his love of air-shattering earth-cracking dramatic entrances. 

“Are you okay?” She asks as they start down the hall. Steve drapes an arm across her back, kind of gently holding her up by the ribs, and answers, “Yeah, no worse than anything else I’ve done, and a lot better than some of the fights I’ve been in. Totally agree with the idea of the toothbrush and and the shower, though.”

Despite herself, Darcy giggles, because her brain is completely inappropriate and she has no filters left. “You can’t share my toothbrush, but we can negotiate the shower.”

Steve stops in his tracks, and his grip on her ribcage means that Darcy spins around.

“Dollface, talk like that could get us both in trouble,” he says slowly, and Darcy can see the red rising in his cheeks. He’s exhausted too, and right: neither of them is really in a state to make any big decisions. But holy carp its going to be nice to get clean and warm and into bed and honestly? There’s absolutely no part of her that would object to having Steve curled up with her. 

“Like I said: we can negotiate.” She says at last, and holds out her hand to him. He takes it, lacing his fingers through hers like they’ve been holding hands for years. It’s gonna be a bit of a walk (or in her case, a limp) back to the residency floor. 

They separate with a lingering kiss at the kitchen and Darcy reluctantly heads off to her room, alone. She’s dragging a brush through her wet curls when she thinks she hears a soft knock at her apartment door. A moment later, there’s the quiet chime that means JARVIS is getting ready to speak--if he were human, that chime would be an unobtrusive clearing of the throat as he stepped just inside the room.

“Miss Lewis, Captain Rogers is requesting entry if ….the invitation still stands.”

For as exhausted as she is, Darcy moves with speed that surprises even her, tossing her wet towels in the hamper and shoving a basket full of landry into the closet as she hobbles to the door. 

Steve’s default pose seems to be to lean against the nearest vertical surface, and here he is,in the hallway outside her apartment door, holding up the wall like a towheaded Atlas. It’s getting close to 3 in the morning, and the supersoldier looks as tired as she feels. 

“Invitation still stands,” she says, somewhat weakly, and is rewarded with a slow grin. 

“I’m not expecting anything, Darcy,” he says, as he steps inside the little entrance hall. He’s rubbing the back of his head, making the hair stand up in a kind of adorably absurd cowlick. “I just...if you wanna talk, or ...watch a movie?” He finishes weakly.

“Okay, well, same thing for you,” Darcy says, suppressing a yawn. “I thought maybe….” She gestures vaguely to the inside of the apartment. “I’m flippin’ exhausted, and I’m sure tomorrow’s gonna be a long day, but I thought maybe neither of us wanted to sleep alone? I know I don’t.”

That smile again. “I think that sounds great.” He reaches out a hand towards her, pulls her in for another knee-melting kiss. They make it to the bedroom somehow--Darcy isn’t remembering a whole lot from one moment to the next; she just knows that Steve’s lips are on hers, and now on the back of her neck, slow, sleepy kisses and nips as they arrange themselves amidst Darcy's almost ridiculous collection of pillows and blankets, and she doesn’t realize she’s fallen asleep. 

\--

Her phone-- _fucking phone_!--is chiming softly. 

Coming back to consciousness means that a few things become true all at once: A) that there’s an incredibly warm presence draped over her back and shoulders, B) that there’s a heavy arm curled around her ribs, and C) that however much sleep she’s gotten, it’s nowhere fucking near enough. 

“Someone’s gonna die today,” Darcy growls, reaching across the remaining expanse of mattress to the bedside table where she plugs her phone in at night. The arm pulls her closer and there’s a protesting grumble from the other body in the bed.

“I will hold ‘em down and let you get first licks in,” Steve grunts, releasing her only enough for her to grab the phone, then pulling her back in close. For a moment Darcy closes her eyes and revels in the beautiful solidity of him, of the way his chest presses into her back and his whole torso seems to curve around her spine. She turns her head and is rewarded with a stubbly kiss to her temple, her cheek, and then Steve’s lips are wandering down behind her ear and the back of her neck and she giggles. 

“I hate to say it, but good morning,” Darcy murmurs, bringing one hand up to cup the back of Steve’s head. He mutters “ ‘morning” into the curve of her shoulder, and skims one palm against her abdomen--still over the t-shirt she wore to bed, but a delicious sensation nevertheless.

Her phone’s still making that godsdamned noise, and with a resigned sigh Darcy swipes her screen open. It’s a general alert to all Labs employees: anyone below management level is ordered to stay away from the damage for today. Unfortunately being Labs Queen means Darcy _is_ management level; she’s got a damage-assessment meeting at noon, a Labs-wide debrief at 3 pm, and then…

“Stark’s moving the party to the conference levels and specified mourning black?” Darcy reads. “Apparently it’s now ‘A Postmortem for Stark Labs’ and we are reminded that respectful observance will be expected.”

“Because it can’t be a good party without a theme,” Steve sighs. “What fucking time is it, anyway?”

Darcy checks the phone, then happily tosses it aside to land on an unclaimed pillow. “Seven-fifteen,” she reports, turning over in Steve’s arms and returning his embrace. “Meaning I’ve got three hours, at least, before I have to be anywhere outside this apartment.”

Steve's smile is immediate and bright and followed almost instantly by a look of awkward uncertainty. “Um. Okay. I know what I'd like that to mean, but maybe now is when we talk about what that's gonna mean, at least for this morning.”

“Okay.” Darcy draws back her arm, taking Steve's hand with it, so that they're holding hands in the small space between them. “I am perfectly content to grab another couple hours of sleep with you. I am also enough of a fangirl to recognize that having you in my apartment, in my bedroom, is probably an opportunity of such vanishing rarity that I should seize any and all options you're willing to consider.”

Steve's scowl is only a little less fearsome this close up. _His freaking_ eyelashes, Darcy swoons internally…

“I'd like to be serious about this, dollface,” he says. “I mean, about what your expectations are, and mine. I'm not opposed to a one-night fling, if that's what you want, but I think we both know that neither of us lives a life that's gonna allow for an easy romance.”

“Well, we haven't gotten a full night yet,” Darcy purrs, “so I don't think we can count this as a ‘fling'.”

“Darcy…”

“Okay, okay.” Darcy lifts her head from the pillow enough to shake her hair from her face, then plops back down and stares into his eyes. “I think you're...well, you're an Avenger. A freaking superhero. But you’re also a legitimately decent guy, and I think you’re sweet, and funny, and ...you know, stuff like that.” Darcy rolls her eyes and feels a blush coming on. “I mean, the tight pants and the uniform don’t hurt.”

Steve laughs and reaches over to touch her hair. “I never did get the chance to thank Coulson for that particular design choice.”

Her cheeks must be absolutely _blazing_. Darcy really wants to turn her face and scream into the pillow at her own tangled roil of emotions, but instead she clears her throat as much as she can without coughing into his face, and barges on: “I’m one of about three _billion_ people with a crush on you, and here _I’m_ the one who gets to have a sleepover with Captain _Freaking_ America the night after my Labs blow up. Tons of people have posters of you on their bedroom walls with the lips kissed off. Tons of people have your name doodled on their binders and notebook covers. Would I like to try and make a good thing work with you, and have a genuine relationship with the first-ever American hero? Sure, yeah, of course.” She takes another deep breath. “But you’re here now, and you and I have been tiptoeing around each other for a long time. We don’t have to ...to have sex, if you don’t want to. But I do. Um. Want to. And, uh, not just for curiosity’s sake, either. I like you, Steve, a lot, and ….yeah.”

It takes all of Steve’s self-control not to close the tiny space between them and end all of the talk with another two-three hours of making out. The way she’s gazing at him from under those ridiculously thick lashes...but she’s said something, two somethings, that stop him.

“I’m not Captain America, Darcy. Not right now, anyways. I don’t know if that’s who you've got your hopes pinned to, but at the end of the day I put the shield down and take the uniform off and I’m just me. Just Steve Rogers.”

“Okay. Pretty sure I like Steve Rogers.”

“Pretty sure or actually sure? ‘Cause right now, this guy,” Steve jabs himself in the chest with his thumb, “this guy is Steve. When we need to go to our meetings this afternoon, that guy’s gonna be more Captain America than Steve. He’s harder to deal with. His _image_ ,” the word gets spat out, “doesn’t have room in it for a sweetheart or a girlfriend.”

“Are you saying you don’t think this is going to work?”

“I’m saying that I want this to work, Darcy. I want to try to make ...I dunno, a little space with you, just for us. You’ve got a way about you--a pair of brass cheeks, my ma woulda said. _Chutzpah_. And you’re sharp and got no shortage of stupid bravery, all wrapped up in this tasty little package.” He winds a lock of hair around one finger. “Steve Rogers very much wants you for his girlfriend. Captain America’s life is dangerous, and he doesn’t want to put you in that danger.”

“Need I remind you,” Darcy says, catching his hand, “that the last two times we’ve been in trouble, _I’ve_ been the one to put us there? I mean, you would’ve found the trouble eventually, but I recall definitely leading you to it. Twice, now.”

“So youre saying you like Cap’s all-thrill lifestyle?”

“I’m saying I can handle a lot more than _Cap_ is giving me credit for, especially since he’s the one who’s been riding my ass in training for most of the last five weeks.” She holds up a finger before he can reply. “Please don’t bring Sam Wilson into our pillow talk.”

“From what Nat’s told me, Sam’s a pretty good pillow-talker.”

“Oh my _gooodds_ ,” Darcy groans, rolling away dramatically. Faster than he’d expect, she rolls back and jabs him in the ribs with one finger. Steve yelps. “What did I just say, you giant lump of handsome?”

“Hey!” Steve catches her wrist and gives into temptation, pulling her over and on top of him for a kiss. For a few more minutes they just enjoy each other, hands exploring arms and shoulders and lacing through hair, until Darcy breaks away for air. 

“So have we decided anything?” She asks softly. Her lips, fuller for the past few minutes’ activity, brush against the tip of his nose. 

“I think we’ve decided to give this whole girlfriend-boyfriend merry-go-round a try. I mean, you somehow found out that I’m just a little ticklish, so obviously I gotta keep you close to hand in case my secret slips out.” Steve strokes the hair back from her face and smiles.

“ ‘Just a little ticklish’?” She teases, sliding her hands out across his chest and down his ribs. 

“Darcy--” he says warningly, but that’s all he gets out before her fingertips are skating along his ribs, making him jump. He twists under her, yelping, as she laughs and mercilessly attacks his sides. It’s no effort at all to grab her wrists again and flip them both over and she lands, wide-eyed, beneath him, with his hands pinning hers to either side of the pillow. The both pause.

“Um,” is all Darcy can say, staring up at him, a thousand fantasies and flashbacks to that stupid day in the gym with _fucking Cooper_ getting themselves tangled into a big ball of desire somewhere behind her belly.

“Uh,” is all Steve has to offer, as all the worries of overpowering or driving Darcy away sweep over him, leaving goosebumps in their wake. 

The next thing he feels is Darcy’s foot sliding up the back of his leg and hooking around his waist. The next thing she feels is Steve settling in response and his hips press between hers. Steve lets go of her hands and rests on one elbow, moving his other hand around the curve of her thigh, resettling her knee to a more comfortable position over his back.

“Yeah, okay,” is all she says before pressing up against him and capturing his mouth. She pulls him down hungrily, making a delicious little moan as he kisses his way down her neck, across her collarbone,even as his hands are snaking up beneath her sleep shirt, thumbs tracing the soft undersides of her breasts. Her fingers are gripping his shoulders, pulling up at his t-shirt, and Steve smiles into her neck. 

“You're _way_ overdressed for this party, Darce,” he murmurs, and runs a finger under the waistband of her pj pants and tugs down. They break apart for just a moment so she can lift her hips and he can pull the pajamas and her panties off, tossing them... somewhere. Her sleep shirt and his t-shirt follow. She gazes at him, maintaining eye contact as Steve stands up, stripping off his own sweatpants and shorts, and stands in front of her for just a moment: both of them naked, he's preening a little under her lusty stare.

“God, you're a treat,” Steve rasps, dropping to one knee on the mattress, skimming his hands up her calves and thighs to her waist. Unconfined, her breasts are just like he'd imagined: sweet, heavy things, shades lighter than the skin on her neck and shoulders, the nipples a dark rose-madder. Darcy reaches for him, fingernails skating up his neck to the back of his head, and she pulls him down to her once more. He trails kisses down her neck, over her collarbone, cupping her breasts and flicking his thumbs over her nipples. The line of kisses continues down, between her breasts, over her belly, and he gently nudges her legs apart.  
The first swipe of his tongue almost does her in: Darcy shivers and bucks her hips, gasping. Steve's five-o'clock shadow rasps along the insides of her thighs, and the stubble on his chin is a delicious prickling in the wake of the smooth strokes of his tongue. He's not subtle: Steve finds her clit almost immediately, clamping his lips around it and sucking; as Darcy thrusts forwards into his face, he slides one hand across her belly to steady her. The other hand skims up the back of her leg, and the fingers find her slick, almost dripping, and slide inside her—first two, then three, while he keeps suckling at her clit.

 

“Steve...” Darcy moans, and he looks up for a moment, smiling slyly.

 

“That's what I wanna hear, doll,” he replies, smacking his lips. “Say it again for me.”

 

“Fuck, Steve. Fuck!” As he spreads the fingers inside her slightly, enjoying the throbbing of her inner walls against them. “Fuck....Steve, I'm so close...”

 

“C'mon, doll, cum for me,” he whispers, pulsing his fingers again and reapplying his mouth to her clit. Steve hums, lips locked around her clit and tongue lashing. Darcy bucks up, gasps, and groans—then all those delicious muscles inside her clamp down on his fingers and he can feel her rippling as she cums. Steve presses his chin forward, letting her grind on his stubble, gazing up towards her face as she rides out this first wave. He drags his fingers out slowly and up, trailing wetness up her belly as he rises; as soon as he's in her field of vision, Darcy grabs him, pulling him down to her and pressing her chest and belly up to him. His cock rests along her inner thigh, almost touching her wet lips; Steve lets her cling to him as he maneuvers them both to a more convenient position.

 

“You need a break, doll?” Steve murmurs into her ear, and Darcy takes a deep, shuddering breath.

 

“Oh, I ain't done with you yet,” she replies, and nips at his earlobe. He chuckles, shifting over her to better align their hips.

 

“Hey, before we do,” he says softly, gazing into her wide-pupil baby blues, “are you...protected, or do I need to grab a something from the bathroom?”

 

“Birth control,” she gasps, “IUD. I’ve got condoms too, if you’re worried…..”

 

“Oh good,” he smiles, and reaches down with one hand, grasping his cock and pressing the swollen head to her slick opening. “I was hoping you'd say that...”

 

If she weren't already so wet, Darcy's sure that his entry into her would hurt—he's that big, that thick. He goes slowly, easing down, and she's amazed when she feels his thighs on hers: somehow he's all the way inside her, filling her up. “Sweet Christ,” she breathes, “Jesus, you feel so good.”

 

“Yeah, oh yeah. Fuck, so do you,” he rasps, and only then does he begin to move, slowly, carefully, sliding out and back in because oh Jesus she's so tight around him, so completely surrounding him that he doesn't want to change anything—the angle, the pressure, speed, nothing. “ _Fuck_ ,” he coughs, and despite his best intentions, he starts moving faster, in and out, landing just a little harder each time.

 

Darcy's ...well, she's not moaning, but she's making some sort of delicious noise that just keeps going on, punctuated by his thrusts and ringing in his ear. “Do it, Steve, please, do it,” she whispers, barely understandable, breath puffing past his earlobe and fingernails digging into his back and shoulders, fighting to keep them locked together. “Come on, baby, do it for me....”

It thunders over him in a rush and every muscle locks up, pushing as deep inside her as he can possibly get, shuddering as the orgasm explodes through him. It seems to last a whole minute, and with one last groan he's spent, collapsing to his elbows to avoid completely flattening Darcy. Her legs are still locked around his waist: “Stay here, just stay here a sec,” she murmurs when he tries to pull away, and strokes the back of his head and neck with soothing fingers, smoothing the sweat-soaked hair off his forehead.

They both drift off for a few moments, but Darcy’s panic about oversleeping rushes through her after about a half hour and suddenly she’s wide awake and flailing for her phone. “Hey, hey,” Steve murmurs sleepily into her shoulder, and reaches a longer arm to the edge of the bed. “You’re ok, Darce. We’ve still got a couple hours.” He hands her the phone and she checks the time all the same, blowing out a relieved sigh when he turns out to be right. Through half-closed eyes steve sees her frown and swipe open the lock screen, and he can hear her giggle, bright and happy, through his own chest when she reads her newest text. 

“What?” he asks, shifting around and up to look at the screen. 

_I WAS TRYING TO SLEEP, JERKS._ Natasha has sent, and Steve flops back against the pillows with a groan.


	12. Chapter 12

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The morning after.  
> The afternoon before.  
> Tony, running and ruining meetings.

The Labs are a total loss. 

The storage areas on the North side of the Tower are the only things that can be considered marginally intact, but everything else--workstations, computers, glassware ( _so much glassware_ ) and any findings that hadn’t been uploaded to JARVIS and the cloud are lost. Iron Man and Falcon have managed to build a plywood barrier across the gaping hole where three of the giant south-facing windows once were, but that was after a few thousand pages of data, findings, and calculations blew off across midtown Manhattan. 

Thor’s entrance stopped the intrusion, it’s true, and it’s also true that he only destroyed one of the windows--but his thundering landing is responsible for at least half of the delicate equipment that now decorates the floor in a sparkling carpet. He stands off to the side, unwilling to let Jane out of his sight even though she doesn’t want him in hers. 

Bruce and Erik stand to Darcy’s left, nodding as her mouth and brain run on autopilot. “Once the cleanup crew comes through we’ll have the assistants inventory storage. JARVIS can reproduce any inp-progress work and I know folks took things home Thursday night, so there’s a lot of data still out there; we didn’t have any HAZMAT stuff in progress so that won’t be an issue for the recovery…”

Her heart is breaking and even though she’s only been on her feet for about two hours, Darcy feels exhausted. She’d been hoping that the damage wouldn’t be as bad as she remembered; instead, it’s worse. The kaleidoscope of euphoria from this morning--waking up with Steve and everything after--seems a million years away. 

They’ve been staring at the wreckage and listening to JARVIS’ report for almost an hour when Jane suddenly stiffens and says, “That’s enough, JARVIS. Thank you.” The AI’s voice cuts out abruptly.

“We can read the reports and we all know what it means to start over from scratch,” Jane declares, “so it's no good just...standing here.”

“Janey…” Darcy begins, but Dr Foster steps out of their comforting bro-lean and starts pacing the little cleared area where the lobby doors held out against the worst of the flying furniture and glass.

“We've got to start planning the rebuild,” Jane continues. There's a gleam in her eye that might be mania, might be unshed tears, might be exhaustion. Might be all three. “The floor is still structurally safe, and Stark’s got the Iron Legion for when he wants to be in eighteen places at once. We'll be back up and running inside of a month. Darcy, you still have the specs on my equipment somewhere, I'm sure, you don't throw anything away, right? And Banner’s stuff, mostly standard, and Erik was sharing with me--” Jane is speaking more and more quickly, and talking with her hands in sharp, jerky motions. “There's no reason to assume a total loss of productivity. I'm sure we can set up temporarily--temporary…” Jane sniffs. “Somewhere temporary space--”

“Jane,” Erik says, starting towards her with a hand outstretched. 

“We planned for this!” Jane explodes. “We made plans in case--in case he lost control” she gestures wildly at Bruce, “or the world ended again, or--or--”

Jane whirls away from all of them, hands covering her face. Thor is there, suddenly, a wall between her and the world, taking Jane in his arms so she can sob into his chest. At least, that's his intention, but Jane spins away again, striking him in the chest, the shoulders with her fists. He flinches away a little at the first swing, but Thor is still Asgardian and Jane is only human. 

“No! This is your fault! Your fault! You and your stupid shitty lightning! _Why--Can't--You--Use--Doors--Like--A--Normal--Person!_ ”

Thor catches her and enfolds her and holds her, rumbling apologies and reassurances as Jane finally starts to sob. 

“Take her back to the apartment, Thor,” Darcy says dully. “Make sure she's ready for the big meeting at 3, but she doesn't have to be here now.”

Thor nods and scoops Jane into his arms without any show of effort, then carries her off.

“And on that note…” Bruce sighs. “Look, Darcy, I know you two were working up something big, but we all lost work last night. Will you just...can you remind Jane that she's not the only one in the Labs? I mean, the Einstein-Rosen Bridge is a big one, sure, but she's acting like nobody else was working on anything important.”

“I know, Dr Banner, and I'm sorry for Jane’s tone. I think we're all under a ton of stress at the moment. Jane's just not handling it as well as you.”

“Or you,” Bruce replies.

“Or...hey, where is Stark, anyway? Shouldn't he and the Legion be crawling all over this place?” Darcy raises her voice: “JARVIS, where is Tony Stark?”

There's a pause, then, to everyone's surprise, a completely different voice answers. “I'm sorry, Miss Lewis,” thos new voice says, with a hint of Irish lilt. “But JARVIS is offline in this building at the moment. My name is Friday, and I'm Mr Stark’s secondary AI. Can I be of service?”

“What do you mean, ‘JARVIS is offline in this building’? JARVIS is the Stark OS. He can't just walk out of the tower.”

“Of course, Miss Lewis.” This Friday's brogue doesn't quite cover the mechanical lapses in her speech patterns. Friday is not _smooth_ , not quite natural. JARVIS’ speech software is constantly adapting and learning, and has been doing so for more than a decade, and he has an actual pattern--pauses, emphases, preferred pronunciations. Friday's got some catching up to do. “Mr Stark is currently integrating the JARVIS source code at the upstate facility. Doing so takes JARVIS offline temporarily. This lapse shouldn't be more than a minute or two.”

“You used a contraction,” Erik observes. “And I thought JARVIS was permanently localized to the Iron Man suits?”

“You're right, Dr Selvig,” Friday replies, showing off, “I'm programmed for slightly more casual word use than JARVIS. The JARVIS source code is normally housed at Stark HQ and connects to the Iron Man suits as Mr Stark sees fit.”

“And why is Tony moving the source code?” 

“I'm sorry, Miss Lewis, but that's not a question I can answer at the moment.”

“Huh.” Darcy turns to Dr Banner. “Well? What's going on here?”

Bruce raises his hands. “Hey, I'm not getting in the middle of this. This is SHIELD-Stark stuff, and I got no beef in the business side of things. Tony’ll probably tell you tonight. You know how he loves to make big announcements.”

“While we're all in mourning black and crying into our cocktails?” 

Bruce shrugs awkwardly. “All of Tony’s big parties have themes, I guess?”

\--

Tony also isn't at the big meeting that afternoon, but one of the suits is seated in a chair at one end of the conference table. Ms Potts, in the chair next to it, doesn't look in the least uncomfortable, but on her other side, Maria Hill keeps giving the suit sidelong glares every few minutes.

“A suit, Tony, really?” Steve asks as he and Darcy enter. “Your home and HQ just got attacked--again--by a terrorist organization. Again. Isn't this important enough for you to be present?”

“I was planning in it,” the suit says, the helmet orienting to face the door with an unsettling whir, “but this whole afternoon is just taking a little longer than i planned so I'm here in spirit, okay? Look at me. Two places at once.” A noise comes through that could be a wolf whistle as Steve pulls a chair out for Darcy. “Oooh, look at _you_ two,” Tony's voice caws. “Looks like someone won the date-betting pool. Who had ‘before the weekend’, huh? Or ‘Friday afternoon’? C’mon, guys, fess up and get your money.”

Darcy sticks her tongue out at the suit and Cap glares, so neither of them see Sam slip a folded packet of bills to Clint as the Falcon and Hawkeye enter the conference room. 

Banner and Selvig are already there and Natasha slips into the room a few moments later. Jane and Thor are the last to arrive, and Jane slides into the chair on Darcy's other side while Thor--never comfortable in the human-sized chairs of the Tower--looms in the background. 

Hill glances at Ms Potts, then clears her throat. “I think we're all aware by now of the damage done to the Tower from last night's attack. The main R&D Labs are declares a total loss, for which you have my deepest condolences, Dr Foster, Dr Banner, Dr Selvig--” she nods at each of them, ending with, “ _Mister_ Stark.” 

The suit snorts.

“I received a visit this morning from the Police Commissioner, the Fire Chief, and the Mayor of New York City,” Pepper Potts continues. “While this particular event was remarkably localized for what they're now calling an ‘extraordinary violent incursion’, the Mayor believes that it is another fine example of the risk undertaken by the City of New York in housing the headquarters for Stark Industries, SHIELD, and the Avengers.”

“What does that mean for us?” Cap asks.

“It means we have been invited to leave,” Ms Potts answers. 

“Look,” Tony's voice breaks in, and the suit leans forward to lean on the table with a clank. “The plan has been, at least on my end, to shift R & D to the upstate facility. The attack last night just moved our timeline. All the toys will be there, all the money, and we'll get the bodies. Apartments! There's training facilities, the whole nine. Brand-new and refurbished and completely out of the way of the lives if the citizens of New York City, who will no longer have to contend with people comin’ after us and hitting them instead.” 

The suit remains propped by one metal arm on the table, eerily still: Tony is never still, even in meetings on the days where Tony can abide being in a meeting. 

“The Avengers Facility,” Natasha muses, “is now going to house SHIELD and Stark Ink? It's a great campus, Tony, but I don't know if it's got the legroom for a move like that.”

“Stark Industries is licensed to operate within the New York City limits and generates a huge amount of tax and tourist revenue for the city, and has not been asked to move,” Ms Potts answers. “Stark Tower will remain company HQ and will continue to operate during the reconstruction and then the relocation of the Avengers.”

“And SHIELD?” Bruce asks.

Hill doesn't blink. “SHIELD will continue its process of decentralization that was begun when the DC facility went offline. It has been determined that we will be more effective...elsewhere.”

“Happy birthday to me,” Bruce mutters, apparently not caring that Hill could still hear him. She gives him a look, which he ignores in favor of scribbling something down on the notepad in front of him. 

“Look, running both Stark and SHIELD in the same house was doomed from the start,” the suit says, “and we all knew this was gonna be a temporary measure, right? Right?” The suit leans back and raises both hands to shoulder level in an exaggerated what? gesture. “And if we're jumping back into the HYDRA hunting game we need to be someplace where ordinary people don't get in the way of our comings and goings. To the outside world, SHIELD is dead. Right? SHIELD is dead. Long live the Avengers.” The suit hoists an imaginary cup and stops again, arm in the air. 

“What about those of us who have been conducting research under the auspices of both entities?” Erik asks quietly. Darcy can tell he’s upset--his Swedish lilt is getting stronger with each word. Never a fan of change or upset, Dr Selvig is probably having the hardest time dealing with the destruction of the Labs. 

“Your work is still your own, Doc, and always will be,” the suit drops its arm to the tabletop with a clang, leaning forward again. Tony’s voice is earnest. “And after the insurance is sorted through and we’ve got a complete inventory of loss, there should be, at most, a momentary lapse in analysis time. Heck, with what JARVIS has stored, the lapse doesn’t even have to be momentary. Just however long it takes you to shift yourself upstate.”

“So the assumption is that we’re moving upstate, too.” 

“That is our most definite _hope_ ,Doctor Selvig,” Ms Potts puts in. She glances at the suit, then returns to Erik. “Your work in the Labs has been incredibly valuable, and it is clear that the arrangement of the joint Labs is nearly ideal--it would be, we feel, in everyone’s best interest to continue that arrangement.”

“Especially since lil’ ol’ Doc Foster there has been keeping something kinda special under her hat--”

“ _Tony_ \--” Pepper exclaims.

“And when were you two going to let us know about that little gem, huh?” the suit finishes.

“After a suitable period of testing and evaluation for safety,” Jane answers icily. “I’m under no obligation to share any unverified data with anyone within or without the Lab environment in which the data discovery is made. Verbatim, _in the contract you and I both signed_ , Stark.”

“Don’t argue, Tony, Dr Foster is correct,” Pepper snaps before Tony can reply. To Jane, she says, “Dr Foster, no one is expecting you to surrender or otherwise share any research you feel is as yet unconfirmed. We’re very… _excited_ to see what developments and direction this new technology takes. Is this how you contacted Thor?”

There is a gleam in Ms Potts’ eyes that makes Darcy uncomfortable. For all she’s been called Tony’s conscience, his Jiminy Cricket, Pepper Potts has still been directing and overseeing growth at Stark Inc for more than a decade. In that decade, Stark has released a lot of clever and useful tech, and has also acquired and bought out various companies and competitors around the world, ensuring that SI stays well ahead of the growth curve. She may have been a Jiminy Cricket at one point, but there has to be more than a little of Bruce the Shark in Pepper Potts as well. 

“The device I developed connects to one specific place in Asgard,” Jane answers carefully. “I wanted a slightly more reliable way to contact Thor when he was off-world, than just sticking a sign in my ceiling fan and waiting for the Guardian of the Bifrost to read it.”

“The sign worked after a couple days,” Darcy murmurs, and Jane shoots her an amused look.

“So Point Break has a cell phone now?” The suit asks.

“No, Stark, I do not. I do not hold the other lodestone. I was told that SHIELD begged the help of Heimdall in tracking one of the brigands they employed. In his observations, Heimdall saw the incursion into your Tower, and I came.” Thor steps up to the table, placing his bulk solidly between Jane’s chair and Darcy’s. 

“He came, he saw, he _blew up my Lab_ ,” the suit replies. 

“And did Heimdall have any luck in tracking Cooper?” Maria Hill asks, before bigger tempers can flare again.

[ _fucking Cooper_ , Darcy’s brain supplies]

“Indeed, Madam Director,” Thor nods. “Sir JARVIS, may I have a map of the globe please?” 

A gleaming hologram springs up from the table, rotating gently on a tilted axis. Darcy bites back a little yelp of surprise. Thor holds out one hand as if to grasp the hologram, and the rotation stops; he places a finger on a landmass, and JARVIS magnifies the area. 

“Here, in this place,” he says, “there are pockets and clusters of those who directly oppose you. There are also energy signatures that mirror the weapons of HYDRA and thus, that of the Tesseract. Even Heimdall’s knowledge does not encompass what that might mean, but in the hands of SHIELD or its enemies, I can guess that it does not bode well for any of us.”

Everyone at the table has leaned forward to see the countryside Thor has picked out. “I think that’s...Sokovia?” Nat says first, squinting. 

“And Serbia, and Bulgaria...Looks like the Aegean Sea is where they decided to re-root themselves,” Sam says. “Nothing in Greece itself, but this one--” he points, and JARVIS helpfully supplies a geotag with the label _Nova Grad_ , “is only a quick hop over the border to Thessaloniki.”

“Is that important?” Hill asks flatly.

“Maybe not, but Greece is barely afloat right now, both economically and politically, and those problems have slowed tourism to a crawl. HYDRA agents with money wouldn’t even have to come up with a good cover story if they wanted to set up a scientific or manufacturing base in that region, so long as money and jobs were forthcoming. Plus,” he adds, sitting back and crossing his arms, “y’all super-folks love places of cultural significance. I’m sure someone in HYDRA’s just salivating to ‘revive the glory’ of Ancient Greece and set themselves up as gods in the modern world.”

“That is kinda how HYDRA started,” Clint agrees. 

“I will have someone look into it,” Hill begins.

“Thor already did,” Darcy interrupts, at the same time that Thor says, “I already have.” He smiles down at her, briefly, before continuing. “Heimdall sees all and does not lie. He has found your enemies. While Midgard’s law might not allow you to mount an incursion at this very instant, you must still ready yourselves to act upon this information.” 

“And if I still had trustworthy agents in waiting around the globe, I would,” Maria Hill replies, folding her hands on the table in front of her and locking eyes with Thor. “But my resources for fast and surgical incursions onto foreign soil are incredibly limited at this moment. In fact, two of them--who, by the way, represent approximately twenty percent of my trustworthy forces--are sitting right here, in and amongst several of the agents and actors responsible for the reversal and takedown of the organization you’re demanding take action here. I cannot command or compel the Avengers. In this case, and going forward, it’s going to be up to your team to decide where and how you act. If you want something done, you’re going to have to do it yourself.”

There are shifting eyes and uneasy looks around the table. Darcy, having nothing else to contribute, shuffles the files in front of her for a few moments, letting the tension stretch out. 

“Tony,” she says finally, and the sound of her voice makes a couple people jump. The suit’s faceplate orients to fix on her. “When can I get a look at the upstate facility? I assume that Stark is going to extend the offer of employment to everyone in the Labs who wants it and passes a renewed background check?”

The suit’s faceplate spins to focus on Ms Potts. “We need to keep Lewis,” Tony says, then: “As soon as you want, Lewis. I can bring you guys up here Monday.”

“Why not tomorrow?” Banner suggests.

“Uh, we've got a postmortem celebration tonight, that's why,” Tony says-- _actual_ Tony, striding in through the conference-room door. “Wine, wooing, and song, right? Gah, no, that sounds like a bad ‘80s kung-fu-sexploitation B-roll movie. Gotta go back and make it ‘wine, women, and song’ again, at the risk of sounding sexist.” The suit stands with a whir of servomotors and holds its chair out for Tony, who drops in with a spin and a contented sigh. “We’ll just have to trust that women who wish to woo will woo with a will and won't be ...carp. What's a word that means ‘dissuaded' but starts with ‘w'?”

“Nice of you to join us, Mister Stark,” Maria Hill bites out.

“Yeah, I didn’t miss anything not being physically present, but traffic on the 405, blah blah blah, excuses. I’m fairly certain we’ve covered all the important stuff. Pep and SI are staying here for the time being. SHIELD is gonna go hang it’s shingle wherever will have it, not here and not under my roof or insurance plans. The Avengers are moving upstate, as all good citizens of New York dream of doing, where we will conduct exciting and unregulated science and move towards making the world a better and sexier place.”

“I still have questions.” Jane starts.  
“I’m overflowing with questions,” Darcy adds.

“And that’s why you’re good scientists,” Tony declares. “I move to adjourn the meeting. Motion to adjourn. Any seconds?”

The suit raises one arm.

“Motion seconded and approved.” Tony leaps up, leaving his chair spinning. “Thor, Cap, come help me move stuff.”

“Get your suits to do it. We’re not done here.” Steve glowers.

“Robert’s Rules, Steve. Motion was seconded and approved. C’mon. What else is there to discuss? The terrible triumvirate is breaking up, much to the relief of the Mayor’s Office. We’ve got a mission objective for as early as Monday morning, thank you Point Break, and I have a lot of guests coming tonight who will be expecting food and drink and things of that nature. I have work to do now. What do _you_ have to do?”

Darcy puts her hand on Steve’s wrist before he can reply, and while she and Steve are trading a placating look, Clint stands up. “Okay, Tony, let’s go move stuff.”

“See? A true team player. Thank you, Barton. Anyone else?” Without waiting for an answer, Tony leaves the room--the suit and Barton follow, and after a second, Sam and Natasha also make their exit. Ms Potts and Hill watch them go, then face Jane and Darcy.

“Doctors, Miss Lewis, most of what we need to do to facilitate this move is paperwork. Human resources type stuff. It can wait to be handled Monday, if you’d rather tour the upstate facility before making up your minds about joining us there.”

Erik rubs his face, producing a sort of wet slapping sound from his cheeks. “I think that would be best, at least for me,” he replies. “I’ve had a few interesting emails from former colleagues lately that I’d like to review over the weekend. I’d like to be aware of my options when I start considering them.”

“Erik, are you getting headhunted?” Banner asks urgently. “I mean, actively recruited away?”

“No, nothing like that. Well, no. A few findings to review, some projects to consult on. Nothing like a residency. Just...some things that could occupy some quiet time away from…” Erik waves a vague hand, a gesture that takes in the conference room and the several superpowered individuals still in it. “You know,” he finishes, and both Jane and Banner nod. 

“I think we can agree to put off further considerations of the implications of the move to the upstate facility until Monday,” Jane agrees, and Banner echoes his affirmative. Jane leans around Steve to catch Darcy’s eye, and Darcy shrugs back at her: she knows that she’s got a job with Stark, and she knows she’s got a place with Jane, and so this whole thing is a no-brainer for her. Jane playing hard-to-get is just a way of flexing her PhDs at Stark and Potts and maybe Hill. She did it at Tromso, and was rewarded with an extension of her study and an increase in funding; there’s no reason not to try it here. 

“In that case…” Hill slips her tablet back in its case.

“Seconded,” Ms Potts smiles at everyone and rises from the table, pulling the remaining attendees up with her. “I’m sure I’ll see all of you tonight at Tony’s funeral.”

“Postmortem,” Bruce corrects her.

“We’ll see.”


	13. Chapter 13

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tony's ...party.  
> Some writers are bad at endings, but eh. What are you gonna do?  
> This chapter is NSFW.

“I think you’ll like the upstate compound,” Steve says a little later, as they lounge on the couch in his apartment. His place has barely deviated from the standard Tower setup, although this couch he found somewhere is far more comfortable than the one that came with Darcy’s little place. “It’s kinda like our own little world up there. Feels safer, and there’s running trails all over the property, and from what I’ve heard Banner’s been outfitting the R&D areas personally. And it’s Stark, so all the best toys…”

“Sure,” Darcy says, wiggling a little closer under his arm, then: “This couch is amazing.”

He laughs, and presses a kiss to the top of her head. There’s about an hour between now and when they need to be down on the main conference level; Darcy’s in stockings, her slip, and a hoodie that she’s pretty sure started out as an M but is now in the XXL range. Steve’s in a form-fitting t-shirt and sweats, but Darcy can see the outline of actual sock garters around his knees. “Is it the couch, or the company?”

“Column A, column B,” she answers, then has to smother a fit of giggles as she is suddenly reminded that she’s on _Captain Fucking America’s_ couch and snuggling with _Steve Goddamn Rogers._

“What?” Steve asks.

“Oh, just a little starstruck all of a sudden,” Darcy answers, as casually as she can: Steve’s sensitivity about his superhero dichotomy could sour the pleasantness of the afternoon quickly. “Hey, what do you think about not going to the thing today?”

“Not going? Why? Are you ok?”  
“Yeah, I’m just...it’s been…” Suddenly it’s really hard to put into words how _tired_ she is. Seven weeks with the Avengers at Stark Tower has been fucking _full_ of crap happening: even on the ‘normal’ days, there’s been training, assistants and interns, meetings, and a new amazing scientific discovery around every goddamn corner. And _fucking_ Cooper. And now, her Labs destroyed: her realm, her domain, the place where an awkward and pushy poli-sci transplant had been able to make some really good contributions to some really good work. 

“Have you seen _Mad Max_? The new one?” Steve considers for a second, then nods. “You know how the whole thing is one big long car chase? Like, the movie itself has a lot of merit in a lot of areas and it deserves all the praise it gets, but at the end of the day it’s a big long car chase across the desert. And the stakes keep getting upped, like the cars get bigger and there’s more explosions--”

“And suddenly dudes on teeter-totter pogo sticks?” Steve adds.

“Yeah. Like, ridiculousness and speed all rolling into one giant mudball that then gets fired out of a cannon.”

“Sure, yeah. And?”

“And I feel like that’s what life’s been for the last two months. Like, my life has been nothing but excitement for most of the most recent past. I can’t remember having an hour to myself since the Labs merged, and now, seven weeks later, I get to spend an afternoon with you because the Labs fucking blew up.”

“You kinda hit the ground running, didn’t you?” Steve picks up a lock of her hair, running it through his fingers and curling it between his index finger and thumb. Darcy lets her eyes drift shut, enjoying the sensation. “If I’m honest, doll, I forget how much it takes to adjust to all this superhero stuff. Been a while in the life for me, ya know?”

Darcy _mm-hmms_ and Steve begins finger-combing a new section of hair. “I guess I can understand that you’re due for a little down time. I mean, we all get it. And we all get tired of the life. I got no fuckin’ clue how Barton and Natasha handle it. Or Foster, for that matter. Banner, he takes himself outta the world every so often, and it’s pullin’ teeth to get him back in when we need him…”

“What about you?” Darcy opens her eyes, twisting a little to look up at him. 

“Me? I keep busy.” Steve smiles down at her, and there’s sadness in the expression. “I guess any time I wake up and I’m not ...dead, or under the water...I’m just fuckin’ grateful to be alive, you know? I ...I feel like it’s on me to keep myself movin’ so I don’t lose sight of the alternatives.”

“Do you remember it? Being in the ice?”  
Steve is quiet for a long time, and Darcy fears she’s pushed too far, too fast. 

“I don’t know if it counts as a _memory_ ,” he says, finally, and she feels more the vibration in his chest than she hears his voice in her ears. “But I know that I was submerged. For a long time. And I was so fuckin’ cold...It wasn’t cold like, oh, hand me a sweater. It was cold that went all the way through me. Like I was made of ice, now. I was part of the water and the ice. Couldn't tell where I ended and the cold began. The kind of cold I was always afraid of growin’ up, because it meant that I was sick again, all the way sick, and I wasn’t going to get better.”

“I woke up, actually came awake, twice, I think.” Steve continues. HIs heartbeat under Darcy’s cheek is steady and slow. “The first time must’ve been a little while after I crashed. I wasn’t...hibernating, yet, I guess. It was so easy to move my head and look up, but I couldn’t move anything else. My head was floatin’ and I couldn’t feel the rest of me. There was a light overhead. It passed, and I waited for it to come back. It didn’t.”

“What about the second time?” Darcy asks quietly.

“There wasn’t a light.” Steve’s voice is...void, of everything. “No light, but I wanted there to be one. I knew there could be, but there wasn’t one. I dunno what brought me around. There wasn’t anything...no smells, nothing to feel but that cold. That… _fucking_ cold. And I could hear the ice cracking. Maybe that’s what woke me up. The ice cracking. Sounded like….like a dying animal. A ...something huge, it’s bones cracking.”

A massive shiver racks Steve’s frame, and Darcy squeezes his middle, suddenly aware of the living mass of him, of the heat that bakes off of him and the solidity of his torso under her arms. He squeezes back, pulling her up from under his arms to rest his cheek against hers, almost using her as a blanket.

“Okay, we can go,” she whispers, and is rewarded with a watery laugh.

“What?” He says, brushing hair out of his eyes.

“After hearing that, I need to spend some time around other people. I don’t even care if I like them.” Steve laughs again, and Darcy beams at him, their faces an inch apart. She can see the freckles across the bridge of his nose, spangling their pale way up onto his forehead. It’s no effort at all to plant a kiss on each cheek, spilling more of her hair across his face, making him laugh again, and more as her fingers creep into his armpits and start wiggling. He yelps. 

“I think you’re good for me, doll,” he says, when they’re still again, Darcy now slung across his lap.

“I hope so,” she says, eyes twinkling impishly. “You're too serious, sometimes.”

“Only sometimes?”

“So far.”

\--

Tony has managed to convince someone to redecorate the entire conference level, turning the glass-fronted rooms into ‘viewing parlors’, each with its own casket or coffin and theme: the guests are herded, slowly, by black-clad Iron Legion suits, as though this were some weird Stark-land amusement-park funhouse. This room here displays a holographic recreation of Helicarrier Charlie slowly and majestically crashing into the Triskellion over the Potomac; the floral arrangements that carpet the floor of that conference room are lillies and grayish-purple roses, accented by sprays of spent bullets and shotgun shells strung and clustered throughout the room. The next room holds a trio of caskets, closed, and a banner that reads, in flickering holo, _The Death of Human Decency_. The caskets are each crowned with wreaths of white roses and behind each is the image of a Stark Industries Jericho Missile, nose up, draped in black lace.

And so on. Darcy and Steve had giggled a little to each other at the first two or three rooms, like the other guests around them, but as the Legion suits herded them on, the displays have gotten more and more morbid. “Has Tony been itching to do some kind of art installation or something? Is this, like, a therapy thing?” Darcy whispers, hugging Steve’s elbow so he’ll lean down and she can whisper in his ear. 

“Tony’s been wearing his guilty conscience on his sleeve as long as I’ve known him,” Steve murmurs back, “so I’m not sure what…”

The next room on the left features a fabulous wedding cake, absolutely ruined, surrounded by a wealth of flowers in such profusion that it takes a moment for Darcy to realize that they’re actually destroyed flower arrangements. Roses, daisies, gladiolus, asters, lillies...they’ve been torn asunder, petals everywhere. The cake looks like it exploded from the inside. The two halves of the topper lay in holographic glory at the base of the room’s viewing window: one is an arc reactor, the other is the familiar SHIELD insignia badge. 

“Jee- _zus_ ,” Darcy mutters, and she feels Steve nod. 

At the far end of the floor--one long corridor, punctuated by conference rooms, rest-and-break rooms of various stripes, and the central elevator hub--there is a raised dais, like an altar nave in a church. There is a pulpit, and more exploded flower arrangements. Two Iron Legion suits stand at attention on either side of an enormous casket, lid closed. The crowd of guests--close to two hundred, Darcy estimates, craning her head around to get a look at the assemblage--stops just shy of the breaking wave of flower petals and discarded stems. She and Steve are standing in the front-third of the group, close enough to smell the _nothingness_ in the air: everything here is a holographic projection, the cheapest and fastest way for Tony to have redecorated an entire floor. Off to her left, Thor looms head-and-shoulders above the crowd around him, and Darcy knows Jane’s gotta be close by him; Pepper Potts’ distinctive strawberry blonde head is visible to the far front-right, with Natasha’s much darker curls and the back of Sam’s head visible two or three people behind Ms Potts. 

“Is there a plan in place,” Darcy whispers up to Steve, “in case, oh I dunno, one of the Avengers decides to...you know...go rogue?”

Steve whips his head around to stare at her. “What are you saying?”

Darcy employs an exaggerated array of eyebrow movements and significant glances to indicate the bizarre scene in which they find themselves. Steve’s eyes follow hers, darting around to take in all the details of the holographic funerals around them, and the enormous casket not fifty feet away. 

“Yeah. Fuck. Okay,” he murmurs.

Without any preamble, one of the Iron Legion suits bends down and picks something up near its feet. It straightens, but bends again almost immediately, then straightens: Darcy cranes her neck to see around one of the slightly-taller people in front of her, and realizes that the suit is turning a giant crankshaft that is sticking out of the side of the coffin. (The fact that the suit is real and the crankshaft is holographic doesn’t seem to make a difference; there is a slow clanking sound as the suit moves, as though its actions are moving some massive clockwork mechanism.)

Tony ascends the pulpit, dressed as a preacher, in red robes and a gold stole.

“What the fuck,” Darcy murmurs, and hears several people nearby echo the sentiment. 

“Friends! Dearly beloveds, we are gathered here today to mourn, yes, mourn; to weep and wail and wallow in the misery of loss and grief,” Tony declares, stretching his hands out over his somewhat-unwilling crowd. Next to him, the giant coffin begins to play a slow, ponderous series of chiming tones, and after a second, Darcy recognizes the opening notes of _Pop Goes the Weasel_ , played at ponderous speed. 

“Nuh-uh,” Steve says in disbelief, not trying to keep his voice down. 

“Though the union is but four fortnights old, we have come to a parting of the ways, rather a _partying_ of the ways, as the Avengers and Stark Inc move on and leave the corpse, yes the corpse, of an international intelligence organization in the dust and muck and mire of its demise.”

 _Pop Goes the Weasel_ continues, and in her head Darcy is singing along: “:...the mon-key thought it was all in fun…” She cringes against Steve in nervous anticipation of whatever is going to be the “POP”, but the song simply cranks back to the beginning after a significant pause. “All a-round the mul-be-rry bush/ The mon-key chased the wea-sel…” 

“But fear not! For I, Father Stark, will take in all who seek work--I will find a home, yes a home, for those who wish to remain. I will reassume my title of Jobs Creator and I shall look after my own!” 

_The mon-key thought it-was-all in fun…._

Darcy felt Steve tense along with her at the looming pause, but again, the song plunked back to the beginning.

“None need fear the unemployment line! None need fear the specter of adjunct professorship for I can guarantee tenure! I am mercy, and I droppeth like the gentle rain from heaven.”

_The mon-key thought it-was-all in fun…._

This time two or three voices sound in the weighted silence at the end of the verse, smothered cries of disbelief and strain.

“Christ on a crutch, what the _fuck_ is he doing?” Darcy mutters into Steve’s shoulder. She knows she’s clinging to his arm too tightly, but he hasn’t made move to shift her; instead, his stance is shifting, she can tell, to lower his center of gravity and duck around her when...when...well, when whatever it is pops out of that coffin. 

_All….a-round...the...mul-ber-ry bush...the mon-key...chased...the...wea-sel…._

“So mourn, yes mourn, my friends, but know that Monday is another day, the start of another work week, and all who wish will be comforted and sheltered in the bosom, the very bosom, of Stark.” 

Tony bows his head, hands still outstretched, and this time--

With a sound like Big Ben exploding, the top of the coffin bursts open and Steve yanks Darcy into his chest, curling over her protectively as she squeezes her eyes shut hard and braces her core, like she’s been taught, so she won’t be as easy to bowl over.

Instead: light, images of sparkling birds flying out of the empty coffin, and holographic confetti raining down to disappear on everyone’s shoulders. Lasers in bright colors arc across the ceiling and there is suddenly bright, thumping music coming from _everywhere._

 _Fuck, it’s a hologram. It’s_ been _a hologram_ , Darcy thinks as she and Steve uncurl. They aren’t the only ones: Darcy can see Jane pushing her way out from under Thor’s shielding cloak, and Natasha sort of casually hops down from Sam’s arms as the music becomes identifiable: someone, for whatever reason, has made a house mix of _Pop Goes The Weasel_ , and the intro is building up to the beat drop. 

Of the assembled crowd that Darcy can see, there is only one person who isn’t looking around in bewilderment or laughing to shake off the unreasonable strain Tony managed to build up; that person is Pepper Potts, who doesn’t seem to have moved a muscle. She glances around, a little, and Darcy can see a wry twist to her lips: either she knew exactly what was going to happen, or Tony’s stunts are no longer capable of frightening her. 

Darcy doesn’t know which option, if either, she finds comforting. 

“Friends!” Thor booms, wading through the crowd towards them, Jane close at his side. It looks to Darcy as though they’ve at least put aside their spat for tonight, or maybe Thor’s seduced Jane back into thinking his lightning-landings are sexy again. Either way, Jane’s under his arm, shaking her head at Darcy in an eloquent what the fuck gesture. Darcy lets go of Steve’s arm long enough to offer Thor a hug; the Asgardian sweeps her up, eliciting a squeak from Darcy, then gently sets her on the floor again. 

“Leave it to Tony to give everyone PTSD around _Pop Goes the Weasel_ ,” Jane grouses. The music at this end of the floor is getting steadily louder; Tony’s pulpit has become a DJ station made of lights and his favorite air-grab screens and he’s apparently mixing a playlist together as they speak. The four of them begin to wander back along the central corridor, and the first conference room Darcy can see--the exploded-wedding-cake scene--has become a bar, a real-life bar, somehow set up in the space of time it took for Tony to do his whole spiel and schtick. It’s beginning to fill up with lab assistants and interns, which means Darcy has no desire to explore it. 

The other rooms down the hall have undergone similar transformations, and it's the work of about half an hour to find one stocked with both food and booze. Jane and Thor head inside, but Steve hangs back at the doorway. 

“What's up?” Darcy asks quietly, standing to the side of the door so Nat and Sam can slip in around them. Steve is leaning again, bracing the wall up with his shoulders, and in the dayglo color scheme flashing from the dance end of the party, he could pass for some enticingly dangerous entity-- _a weirdly sexy gargoyle_ , Darcy thinks, and immediately regrets it. 

With his free hand Steve traces a shivery line from Darcy's elbow to her shoulder, pulling her a little closer. She obliges, stepping into the circle of his arms, and he tugs a little on a lock of her hair. “Any chance you've had your fill of people?” He asks, eyes searching her face in the dimness. Her surprise must register on her face because he looks suddenly uncertain, and Darcy's heart skips a beat as he bites his lower lip. 

“Are you wanting to get out of here?” Darcy purrs, and Steve rewards her with a slow, smoldering grin. 

Hmmm. _Weird funeral-themed party that will last until_ tomorrow, _or let Captain Fucking America decorate his bedroom with my panties?_ Darcy actually considers, peeking over her shoulder into the room Jane and Thor picked. Sam and Thor are talking animatedly about something, while it looks like Nat has pulled Jane over to the bar for a different discussion: from the way Jane is talking with her hands, Nat’s asked her a really good question. _She will be fine without you for a while_ , Darcy’s brain chides, and she spins back to Steve with a smile. 

“Let's go make out in the elevator,” she suggests, eyes twinkling wickedly, and tows Steve off the wall, through the streaming throngs of superheroes and scientists.

They make it upstairs without any major injuries, although Darcy manages to lose her sensible black flats in the elevator. The residential floor is naturally deserted, and the only pause comes when Steve breaks away from her lips at the entrance to the common area. 

 

“My place is closer—do you wanna move someplace less...public?”

Technically speaking, there's about five fewer feet between his door and the common room, but closer is closer. _The data doesn't lie,_ she thinks. 

As soon as they're through his front door Steve's got her pinned to the wall, stooping to cover the height difference between them and capturing her mouth with his once again. Darcy pulls at his lower lip with her teeth, then shoves him back—and as soon as he's upright, she's yanking his belt out of its loops and practically tearing his fly open. Steve moans and leans over her a little as his pants drop and the pressure eases drastically. He drags in a deep breath, only to loose it in a groan as Darcy presses the heel of her palm against the underside of his dick. He can feel her fingers as she lays them flat along the shaft, and she gives a little wiggle, and it's getting hard for him to draw a complete breath.

 

“Are you...measuring me?” He asks, and is rewarded when she turns her face up into his with a sly, smart-ass smile. He's leaning over her on the wall, one arm braced above her head, practically cocooning Darcy into the corner behind the door.

 

“I just want to be sure what I'm in for,” she answers, sliding her hand down against the thin cotton of his undershorts. _This_ pressure is making his knees weak, and Steve clenches his jaw in an effort to keep some kind of control-- _And all that's gonna go straight to hell_ , he thinks, as Darcy slides herself down the wall, hooking her nails into the waistband of his shorts and easing them down; his cock practically springs out of them, curving hard up into his belly. Every nerve ending is on fire and he trembles as she breathes—or blows—across the tip of his cock. And then-- _mother mary and all the fucking saints_ \--her lips are sliding down his shaft in a taut ring, and the firm, rough flat of her tongue is pressing against the thick vein on his underside and the hot, silken walls of her cheeks are fluttering over the rest of him.

 

She keeps going, opening the muscles of her throat to take him as far in as she can, but _fuck_ he's huge—not just long, but _thick_ , so that she can't help that her teeth scrape lightly over the delicate skin as she pulls back, keeping only the his tip in her mouth and applying little pulses of sucking pressure. One index finger comes up to trace lines up and down his cock, while her other hand reaches around to grab a tight handful of butt cheek, holding him as still as she can when she resumes pumping him with her mouth.

 

“Aah,” he hisses, and Steve's free hand descends to Darcy's hair, sweeping it shakily off to the side, tangling in the strands with sweat and the uncoordination that comes of having most of the blood and feeling in your body concentrated in one _really sensitive and happy spot_. Darcy's got him all the way in again, the head of his dick pressing against the back of her throat, and she ...whatever it is, a hum or a chuckle or what he doesn't care because it makes his knees buckle and the _worst time to fall over is when a dame has your cock between her teeth, Rogers._ He cups the back of her head and leans his forehead on the wall, sort of watching her work, sort of losing his mind as every sensation in his body piles up on top of the feeling of Darcy sucking his cock.

She only knows he’s going to cum because the hand in her hair tightens--not pulling, just pressing--as his hips jerk back. She lets him go with an almost comical _pop_ and he moans, jerks, splattering the wall over her right shoulder. Darcy tries not to be disappointed; he’ll probably return the favor and go down on her, but Darcy’s got to admit that the thing she liked most about sex with Steve the first time was the actual act of _sex_.

“Up, Darcy, up,” he pants, and she pulls away. Her breath skirts over his slickened shaft and he shivers, but the change in sensation helps him focus a little bit. She skims her palms up the front of his thighs, resting her hands on his hipbones, and he reaches for her, helping her stand in the tiny space between him, the door, and the wall.

 

“You OK?” she asks huskily, and in answer he pulls her close for another long, deep kiss, tasting his sweat and her own, not really caring—he just needs to touch as much of her as possible. A hand under her knee hooks one leg around his waist, and he wraps the other under her shoulders to hoist her up to a more convenient height. He finishes kicking off his pants and carries her, slowly, still moving his mouth across her neck and collarbone, into the apartment, to the first piece of convenient furniture he can find: the sofa. He spins them, plunking his naked butt down on the cushion, and Darcy gives a happy little squeal against his mouth.

“Again, with the overdressed,” Steve pants, coming up for air. Her dress is this loose kind of drapey thing and he can’t figure out if there’s a zipper or just a belt, but he definitely knows that her stockings aren't going to last the night. Really, any longer: he'll buy her another pair, a dozen pairs, he promises himself, shredding the nylons and trying to fling the clinging fibers away. Darcy laughs again, a high and carefree sound, and makes wiping motions to rid them of the ruined stockings. Somehow she also manages to wiggle out of the dress without quite letting him see how she does it, but all that _really_ matters now is that there's a mostly-naked Darcy straddling his lap, bee-stung lips and wide-pupiled eyes and just…  
“I think,” she murmurs, biting her lip, “we should spend more time here. This is an awesome couch, and so far the rest of your apartment is really exciting.”

“Well, I have yet to show you the best part,” he replies, and somehow manages to push himself up to standing while still cradling Darcy in his arms. She giggles again, and he picks his way carefully across the clothing-strewn floor to the hallway. He knees the bedroom door open, then juggles her in his arms for a moment. “Do you trust me?” He asks.

“What?” Darcy’s still got the giggles. She pushes her hair out of her eyes again. “Of course I trust you. Superstr-eeek!” Whatever she was going to say becomes a delighted shriek as Steve launches her onto the bed from about eight feet away. It’s not a superhero leap by any means, but he lands next to her.

“How,” she laughs, “how did we not just break the bed?”

“I never look a gift-horse in the mouth, but according to Dr Banner the beds in Stark Tower are both Hulk-proof and Thor-proof,” Steve answers gravely.

Darcy goggles at him for a second. “I don’t even want to know how that conversation started.”

“Well, it was just after Dr Foster sent in her acceptance and Thor was due to swing back through Midgard…”

“No! No no no, I know enough about Thor and Jane’s sex life, I do _not_ need to know more,” Darcy waves her hands as though to ward off whatever words he might speak next. Steve laughs ( _and how long has it been since you’ve been able to laugh with a dame in bed?_ the voice in his head that always kinda sounds like Bucky asks. _Never, you punk, because up til now you’ve been too chickenshit to get a dame into bed_.), grabs her wrists, and pulls her over on top of him.

When he is buried deep inside her, Steve has a moment of absolute clarity: Darcy straddling him, black bra against her creamy skin, hair cascading down her back as she arches up in pleasure. _Please, God, let me remember this,_ is all he can think before the sensations of the moment crash down around him: the slide of her legs against his hips, the hot wet constriction of her muscles around him, the sweet ache building once again behind his navel. Then Darcy tilts her hips and moans his name, and he can’t think of anything else for a while.

Monday will come soon enough--Monday, and the upstate facility, and training and schedules and everything else that the real world has for them. But tonight, Steve’s fingers are digging into the flesh of Darcy’s hips as she rolls over him, trying to keep the sweet wave rolling for the both of them, until she chokes out his name and shudders, gasping, until he loses control and loses himself inside her. 

Fin.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading! I'm on Tumblr as tobinlaughing if you wanna stop by and say hello :)


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